Through and Through
by HPluvah
Summary: And with that, she began to read, so entangled within dark text she never felt the shadowed eyes that were upon her, or saw the slow, scheming smile that had formed on her husband’s face." SSHG, a rather dark fic. Not your usual MLC, check it out!
1. Chapter 1

**Through and Through**

"_'He accused me of being "Dumbledore's man through and through."'  
'How very rude of him.'  
'I told him I was.'"_

_--Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_

**Chapter 1**

_You've got to be kidding me._

The thought flew through Severus Snape's mind before he was able to stop himself.

"No, Severus, I am definitely not kidding you." Voldemort's pale slit of a mouth curved into something resembling a smile. "I trust you'll follow orders admirably. I'll leave the details to you."

With that, the Dark Lord strode out of the room, leaving Snape to his thoughts, which were tumultuous at best.

Marry Hermione Granger? That was unexpected.

The Dark Lord wanted to get one of Harry's friends closer to their side, and apparently Granger's intelligence and curiosity were key traits necessary to draw someone in.

And apparently her gender didn't hurt, either.

At best, according to Lord Voldemort, their side would gain a faithful new follower and greatly hurt the balance of the light's key weapon, and at worst they'd have a spy quite close to an important member of the Order. It was an obvious decision.

Snape was quite surprised and impressed by the Dark Lord's proposed method of matrimony, as well. Apparently he'd discovered an archaic magical law that had been forgotten in recent history and never used in at least three hundred years. The law was essentially a relic from the enslavement of mudbloods, in exchange for granting them use of their magic. This law said that they were bound to accept the first formal marriage proposal from an adult, financially secure witch or wizard who asked for them.

Because "formal marriage proposals" through the ministry were a bit antique themselves, and no one had acted on this law in so long, it had been forgotten, and assumed that no one would ever use it again.

No one, it seemed, had counted on Voldemort. Through his research, he'd found that the magical ties enforcing this law were still intact, and as long as Severus acted quickly and with discretion, it would still be very valid when he acted on it.

Which he would do, of course. No one says no to Lord Voldemort and lives.

So that was Severus's choice: Die, or marry Hermione Granger. For a moment he got a mental picture of the bushy-haired, bucked-toothed eleven-year-old he first met and shuddered visibly. She was an adult now, he had to remind himself. Eighteen, if he wasn't mistaken.

Even a Know-it-All Gryffindor was preferable to death.

Although, after thinking how Dumbledore would respond to all of this, he wasn't so sure….

**000000000000000000000000000000000**

Dumbledore didn't respond well.

He never did, when someone displayed meddling skills to rival his own, but the old man at least wasn't naïve.

"So we basically have no other options open to us." He stated plainly, with absolutely no twinkle left in his troubled blue eyes.

"Basically," drawled Severus.

They'd been over everything, and couldn't find a way out of it without some fairly disastrous consequences. If Snape didn't petition for Miss Granger, Voldemort would know he was a spy for the wrong side and kill him. The Order would lose its insider, and Voldemort would still be after ways to break up the Golden Trio. If Dumbledore petitioned to have the law abolished before Severus could petition, Voldemort would be sure to know he leaked the information, kill Severus and still pursue the girl.

If Snape did petition for Miss Granger, well, he'd have to marry her, a student. She was an adult, so it was legal, but much frowned upon. Dumbledore was sure she wouldn't be tempted by the Dark Lord, since Severus was a double agent.

And as unappetizing as it promised to be for both parties, marriage was sure to be preferable to death.

"Besides," Dumbledore pointed out, "You would be protecting her in a way; if not for you, some other Death Eater would be after her, with less honorable intentions."

"Ever the optimist, aren't you, Albus?" Severus's hard, dark eyes stared into those of his colleague, mentor, and friend.

"In times such as these, Severus, optimism is often all we have."

On this simple, sage advice, the two men set to work drafting Severus's proposal. Neither wanted to think about what was to come: the wedding, the marriage, the inevitable conflicts. And most of all, neither Snape nor Dumbledore wanted to think about how well Hermione Granger would take the news.

**00000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

"You've done_ what?!_"

Thus far, telling Hermione the news was not going so well.

"You just—petitioned for me? Like I'm some sort of… of—I don't know what! Professor Dumbledore, I trust you'll have this ridiculous law abolished as soon as possible!"

She was standing in his office, having abandoned her chair in righteous indignation. Dumbledore waited for her to stop sputtering before he responded.

"I do intend to have this law abolished, Miss Granger, but I'm afraid it will not stop the validity of your and Professor Snape's engagement."

Hermione made a face at this last phrase and tried to make sense of what they were telling her. "So, Snape had to petition for me so he wouldn't die; even if he didn't, Voldemort would still probably send someone who wasn't a spy after me. So what happens if I don't accept?"

Snape cleared his throat, and Hermione tried to read his face. As usual, it was a mask.

It was Dumbledore, once again, who spoke. "You are aware, Miss Granger, that these ancient laws were used to enslave muggleborns; their service and subservience was seen as their payment for using magic they… well, the general opinion was that they stole it."

Hermione scoffed. "I am quite aware of the history, Professor."

"Yes… well, Miss Granger, there was an ancient dark magic that has been all but forgotten now, that, if the laws were not complied with, would rip all the magic from the witch or wizard's soul."

"How is that even possible? A wizard's magic is ingrained into his soul. A person who'd had it ripped out, why, they'd be something less than human… like someone after the Dementor's Kiss."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes, Miss Granger. This same branch of dark magic is what created Dementors. Fortunately, the knowledge of how to create it has been lost, but these old laws… I'm afraid, still function quite well."

And the news finally sunk in. Hermione was now sitting back in her chair, rather slumped over. Dumbledore was fiddling with something or other on his desk; she chanced a look at Professor Snape.

She'd never thought of him as anything other than an Adult, her teacher, and a Slytherin. Now that they were in this… predicament, she tried to see him as a man.

He wasn't un-handsome; His features would probably never land him in a glossy magazine, but the dark eyes definitely held something that she wanted to see. His hair was a bit ripe but otherwise quite nice; the nose was angular and large, but seemed to fit his face and his person. His jaw was firm and his mouth… well, she'd never looked at it before.

Everyone made jab's at the 'Bat-of-the-Dungeon's' crooked yellow teeth, but it really wasn't so. His lips, while not exactly full, fit his face nicely, and as he opened his mouth to speak, Hermione could see his teeth were white and even.

It was strange that little detail made her like him more; she really was the daughter of dentists.

Hermione looked back over his face and saw that he was looking at her.

"I trust that you have more questions, Miss Granger?"

His voice was like black silk when he wasn't taking house points away, she mused.

"Always, Professor. I understand that we must go through with this… What are the details of the law?"

Dumbledore was still fiddling with trinkets on his desk, but after she asked this question, his manner was pointedly busy.

The dark potions master responded. "We have one week to marry; it is a short time, I realize, but I didn't think you'd want a lot of fuss for this …arrangement. Now, there is a matter of wizard marriages, especially this old bonding. For it to be complete, it requires consummation."

Hermione tried not to flinch. She used every bit of will she had to close off her mind.

Snape continued, "However, we can postpone the act. I believe the marriage ceremony will satiate the law for up to a month, by which time we will have to… cement our relationship."

Hermione briefly wondered how many socially appropriate euphemisms for sex this man could think of under pressure. It was quite impressive. But he was expecting a response:

"I see. Well, it seems the only thing we can do."

The sentence was said calmly enough, but Hermione was churning inside. Have sex? With this thirty-eight year old man? She knew some girls liked older men, but she'd only just turned eighteen and really wasn't thinking about marrying and sleeping with her potions professor. Hermione had barely done anything, save for a few kisses with Victor Krum and Ron, neither of whom turned out to be her knight in shining armor… and now she was expected to do _everything_ with this mystery man who she may as well never have met! He was an enigma, and he was stealing her future.

"Professor? Next time you see Lord Voldemort, will you let him know I'm rather peeved at him?"

With that sentiment, Dumbledore again appeared from behind his knickknacks with his eyes twinkling at full wattage.

"A proper response, I'd say. If you have no further questions, Miss Granger, Professor Snape and I will meet with you here, tomorrow after dinner, to discuss the details of the ceremony."

Professor Snape's face was a mask again, facing away from Hermione.

"Very well. Good-night, Professors."

And with that, Hermione left Dumbledore's office. In twenty minutes, her life had changed entirely. She walked back to her dormitory in a daze, and only after entering the common room did a resounding question enter her mind:

How on earth would she explain this to everyone else?


	2. Chapter 2

Through and Through

**Through and Through**

"_Just shove a bezoar down their throats"_

_--Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_

**Chapter 2**

Somehow, Hermione had survived all night, two meals and five classes without Ron and Harry badgering her for information about her meeting with Dumbledore the night before. Dinner, however, was proving to be a never-ending hell with probing questions for flames.

"So, what kind of Head Girl business were you discussing?" Ron looked suspicious.

"Um, the private kind?" Hermione was trying to shut them up with mysteriousness.

"What kind of private Head Girl business?" Apparently, it wasn't working.

"The kind that would shock and depress you." Hermione tried intimidation.

"C'mon, Mione, we're not that delicate."

"Okay. It was girl stuff. You know, how to council first and second years on 'becoming women.'" This was hitting below the belt.

"Ugh." Intoned Ron.

"Geez, Hermione, you didn't have to get explicit." Harry returned to his roast beef.

Ginny cast Hermione an odd look, but otherwise dinner passed uneventfully. Hermione spent most of the meal (and indeed, the whole of the rest of the day), thinking of her impending marriage. She tried to catalogue every memory she had of Snape to try and figure him out. He was either distant and mocking in Potions class, distant and mocking at Order meetings, or distant and mysterious anywhere else. He never let his guard down, never revealed enough of his character for it to be overly examined, and never showed any allegiance to anyone to avoid being pinned for belonging to one side or another.

How must a man on both sides live, Hermione mused. His loyalty to Dumbledore was widely agreed upon, but all the Slytherins trusted him, too. How would anyone know who this man really was?

But then, she realized, she would have the best opportunity. As his wife. Living with him. For the rest of eternity.

She anxiously awaited her next meeting with Dumbledore.

**000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

And it came eventually, although time passed slower than Hermione had ever before experienced. Somehow, dessert came and ended, the crowded Great Hall emptied, and Hermione made her excuses to Ron and Harry and wandered through the spindling halls of Hogwarts. She gave the password to the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office, and the spiral stairs were elevating her to his office, seeming taking longer than usual.

But there she was, before his door, about to discuss the details of her wedding with her Headmaster and fiancé.

She knocked.

"Enter, Miss Granger!" Dumbledore's full voice came from inside.

The door swung open, and Hermione approached the desk where he and Professor Snape were sitting. Severus. Her betrothed. Intended. Fiancé. The man she was promised to.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione resumed the seat she'd vacated the night before.

"Good evening Professors Dumbledore, Snape." Her eyes sought out those of her… Professor, but his were looking quite contentedly into the tea cup in his hand.

"Good evening, Miss Granger. We have much to plan, with the wedding being in only six days; is there anything in particular you'd like to address?" Dumbledore inquired.

"Well, yes there is, but it isn't exactly about the ceremony. Professor, we've addressed why this wedding must occur, and what each side will think of it, and what it will mean for our futures, but we haven't said anything about what non-Order members will think. What are we going to tell everyone?"

"Yes, Severus and I discussed this briefly after you left last night. While an alibi would be a convenient back-up plan, you are still in school and this law only affects you and the professor, which complicates things. We agreed it would probably be best to keep the marriage a secret. That will be complicated in itself, but we believe it is feasible, at least until you are graduated."

"What about living arrangements?" she addressed this question to Snape, who she felt they were ignoring.

After stirring his tea, he responded. "You will reside with me; you will have an adjoining room to my quarters, and a secret passage way to the Head Girl's private dormitory. It is quite fortuitous that you have that position, or else this… clandestine arrangement would be impossible."

"I see. And I can tell no one?"

Dumbledore spoke clearly, "No one, save for members of the Order—and of course, those Voldemort tells—can know. Severus is quite sure he can convince Voldemort to swear everyone he tells to secrecy, in order to preserve his effectiveness as a double agent." There was a pause. "And although they are not technically in the Order, you may discuss this with Mr. Potter and Mr. and Miss Weasley."

Hermione felt a weight lift off her. "Thank you, Professor."

Twinkly-eyed again, Dumbledore continued. "And now, to the wedding! I presume a small ceremony; you may invite those three friends, and any other Order members you desire. I will provide the minister—it will be a short ceremony, but the old, traditional wizarding vows must be made to appease the law. It can be in my office, unless you have any objections. Does all this sound agreeable? Severus?"

"Yes, it sounds perfectly fine. What time?"

"It will be next Thursday, at 8pm—directly after dinner."

Snape nodded his head and finished the last of his tea. "If that is all, then?"

"Yes. Good-night, Miss Granger. I shall see you back in my office then."

"Good-night, Professor."

Hermione and Snape both headed out the door, and only as his shoulder brushed hers as they passed through the entryway to Dumbledore's office did Hermione realize they'd have to stand together on the narrow staircase.

Severus Snape was quiet. That was the sole observation Hermione was able to glean from their shoulder-to-shoulder trip down the rotating staircase. He said not one word, as if everyone else said plenty enough for him. When she braved a glance at his form, she noticed his body was lean under the billowy robes he always wore. But her glance was apparently not subtle enough.

"I am a very private man, Miss Granger. I understand that you may tell you friends of our arrangement, but I do not want you entertaining them with tales of Life with the 'Dungeon Bat', as some of my more puerilestudents refer to me. Is that understood?"

"Quite, Professor. You don't have to worry about that."

He looked at her in the eyes, his black orbs melting into her own. "Very well. Good night, Miss Granger." With a heel-spin that sent his robes billowing again, he turned towards the Slytherin dungeons.

Hermione continued on to Gryffindor Tower, trying to ignore a particular thought. As his eyes had left hers, she could've sworn he looked her over—as if he was checking her out or something.

That was odd.

**000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

The Gryffindor common room was bright with firelight and camaraderie. Everywhere Hermione looked, she saw young people being young: talking, laughing, pulling pranks, frantically copying homework, playing wizarding chess… They were all doing exactly as young people ought to do, which is why Hermione generally stayed out of their way, completing her homework in the library or her private dorm. If she ever lingered overlong in the common room, she felt the singular feeling that her life was completely alien to those of her peers.

And it will continue to be separate and strange, she mused. Not every seventh year marries their teacher, a faux death eater who lives in the dungeons.

She found Harry and Ron, who were sitting with homework out, decidedly ignoring it.

"Hermione! Brilliant, I was hoping you'd help me out on this transfiguration essay."

Ron's face seemed adolescent in the glow from the fireplace.

"Actually, I've something to tell you two. Do you think you could round up Ginny and meet me in my dorm in about five minutes?"

"Erm, sure, we'll be right up."

As she was leaving she heard them say:

"What d'you reckon that's about?"

"Dunno, but I s'pose we'll see soon enough."

The din from the common room quieted as Hermione climbed the stairs to her room, and she could only hope they'd be as sedate after hearing her news.

**0000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

"You have to do _WHAT_?!" Lamentably, 'sedate' wasn't the right word to describe the mood of the room. Harry paced back and forth before the sofa while Ron was uncharacteristically silent and slowly turning a deep shade of purple. Ginny was staring blankly ahead, watching the scene play out.

"I have to marry Snape, Harry. I hardly think it needs repetition."

Hermione was trying to keep calm, but she really hadn't thought Harry's reaction would be quite so volatile.

"Marry _Snape_, the evil, loathsome _old man_ who's made our lives here Hell since the day we were sorted! Marry the man who is more than two-faced, he's five-faced! Ten-faced! Bloody thirty-seven-faced!!"

"Blimey, Harry, thirty-seven faced?" Ron's voiced interrupted Harry's rant with unexpected humor.

Harry didn't know how to take it; he was standing still now, steam almost literally coming out of his ears, but an odd twitch had begun around his mouth.

"Come on, that's hardly an insult. The least you could do is call him a 'fucking thirty-seven faced wanker with a bloody snake up his arse.' That'd at least be mean _and_ absurd."

Hermione really was not prepared for Harry to start sputtering "bloody… arse snake…" and burst into giggles. Ron quickly joined him, relieving some of the tension in the room, but confusing Hermione to no end.

"I guess they're laughing." Ginny acknowledged sagely.

Hermione gave her a 'no-shit' look.

"I mean, you know, instead of crying. Laugh instead of cry?"

Hermione nodded. "I'd planned ways to calm down rants, comfort crying, or reason with insanity, but I never dreamed they'd be… "

She motioned to the giggling heap on the floor made up of her two best friends.

"It's just rather unexpected."

Ginny moved closer to Hermione, "This is unexpected news. And since when have either of those two been sane? Look, Hermione, none of us could have predicted this, and I don't think any of us want it. But we'll still be your friends."

Hermione hugged her. "Thanks, Gin, that means a lot. With everything else changing, I don't think I could bear it if I didn't have you. I just… I need someone to talk to, you know?"

Ginny nodded, "Yeah. So, when's the wedding?"

"Thursday." Hermione cringed.

"And what are you going to wear?"

"Um…" Hermione gestured to her uniform, shrugging.

"You're kidding!" Ginny looked horrified.

"What? It's not like either of us wants this."

"Perhaps not, but how ridiculous would it look to be wearing your school uniform as you marry your teacher? Everyone would hate that. Don't you have any non-muggle clothes besides your school robes?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've never had the occasion for any. Well, save for the Yule Ball, but I can't wear those anymore."

"Well, I've got some we could tailor to fit you; Mum taught me some really handy alteration spells. It might not be the wedding you desired, but it's likely to be the only one you get. You should at least look decent and not like a school girl."

The Head Girl smiled. "Thanks, Gin."

Hermione felt a wave of relief flood her as she realized she was done revealing the news and no one's head was torn off in the process. With a sigh, she leaned back into the sofa and she and Ginny relaxed, watching Harry and Ron still rolling and laughing like hyenas on the middle of the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

**I would like to thank everyone who's reviewed so far—I really appreciate it! The more reviews I get, the more inspired I am to write. AND, this chapter is devoted to Rinatovna, my lovely thesaurus.**

**Again, I do not **_**own**_** anything from the HP world, but I hope you think this chapter has total pwnage!**

**Through and Through**

"_There was no point in worrying yet... what would come, would come... and he would have to meet it when it did." _

_--Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_

**Chapter 3**

Hermione was oddly calm as she laid out her wedding dress on her bed. It was a peach-colored thing, quite pretty, that Ginny said Hermione could keep as it wasn't her own coloring. It was really the first non-school wizard clothing Hermione had ever possessed and she thought it odd it was for her wedding day.

And that was how she'd been thinking of what would happen later that evening: _her_ wedding. She almost ignored Professor Snape's involvement entirely. Her mind recognized that she was getting married to him, but he was so distant it was nearly impossible to imagine.

And soon she wouldn't have to imagine it: she would be Mrs. Severus Snape in just a few hours' time. She looked at her face in the mirror to see if the name fit her, but all she saw was someone without any name at all. Hermione's face seemed empty and not her own; the eyes in the mirror stared back at her, examining.

With classes over and dinner looming closer and closer, Hermione wondered what those eyes saw.

**00000000000000000000000000000000000**

Severus Snape watched the two first-years scramble out of his classroom with dread.

That was the last of them. His final class was over. He had a few hours before dinner, then he would have to wed one of his students. A seventh year, eighteen-year-old student, but a student nonetheless. Taking the doorway to his private chambers, he considered his fiancée for not the first time.

She was intelligent, as everyone would agree upon. The thing that she lacked, or failed to prove, was the one thing that Severus had mocked her for previously. Her answers were either word-for-word from ministry-approved textbooks, or reworded thoroughly enough that he could not accuse her of plagiarism. He was hard on her because he knew she had the creativity to see all that she learned was related, to be able to find connections between seemingly unrelated subjects to make ingenious discoveries. He knew that she could do this, and was hard on her to make her prove it. All of the other teachers were very inclined to treat her just as another student in another class; they assumed everyone was at the same level, and so she must work very hard and be rewarded a great deal.

But Severus knew what she showed in the classroom was only a portion of her abilities; it was what attracted the Dark Lord to her, what made her the latest insect in his spider web. He wondered if this marriage would allow him to unlock her hidden talents, to reveal the heights she could achieve…. Or perhaps it would just tie him for life to a talking textbook.

And as far as her looks were concerned… He made it a point never to view his female students sexually in any way, but once they were engaged, Severus didn't see much harm in it. Normally the awkward eleven-year-old always shined through his students' eyes, but he let that vision fall when he looked at Miss Granger and he tried to see her for the young woman she had become. The buck teeth had vanished, by what means he knew not; the frizzy bush of hair was no less voluminous, but it had grown out lately, forming more relaxed curls. He hadn't gotten a good look at her body as she nearly always wore her outer robes, but he hoped she wasn't too young-looking. It would just make everything that much more difficult.

Severus sighed and poured himself a drink. One thing was certain: he would be sure to relay Hermione's message to the Dark Lord.

**000000000000000000000000000000000**

It was dinner time, and Ginny and Hermione were eating quickly to have time before the wedding.

Ginny was eating her usual amount, but Hermione was keeping pace with Ron. She smacked his hand away from a plate of chicken and took some for herself instead.

"Oi! Just cause you're getting married doesn't mean you can injure me!"

"Oh, be quiet. This is my last meal as a single woman, and it is going to be good. Besides, I need my strength for tonight."

Harry and Ron both made faces and noises of disgust.

"Oh, not that kind of strength! I meant so I don't pass out or something during the ceremony! "

Their faces were slightly less revolted, and Ginny took the opportunity to grab Hermione by the arm and pull her to standing.

"Come on, Nympho, we've got to do something to get you virginal looking in just half an hour."

"I'm so glad I've wonderful friends like you three." The sarcasm in Hermione's voice was marred by the truth of the statement.

Hermione and Ginny continued to the end of the Great Hall, towards Gryffindor Tower. As she was turning the corner away from the hall, Hermione threw a glance to the staff table, and was startled to meet the dark gaze of her potion's master.

Ginny's tugging led her out of the hall, and before she knew it, they were at her dorm.

"I can't believe this is really happening." Hermione was standing outside of the threshold.

Ginny hugged her quickly. "Nor can I. But it is, Hermione. It is, weirdly enough. And you can't go in your school clothes."

They stepped into the room together. "No, Gin. I definitely can't."

And with that, they set to work. Ginny laced Hermione into the dress, did a few spells on her hair to make it more manageable, and started fiddling with a few make-up charms, but nothing she did took the blank look out of Hermione's eyes.

The clock on the wall showed ten minutes to eight; they headed to Dumbledore's office.

**000000000000000000000000000000000000**

Snape shifted uncomfortably in his dress robes. The two teenaged boys occupying the office with him and Dumbledore were standing directly opposite from Snape, staring him down as if the ghost of Salazar Slytherin were about to fly right out of his arse.

No, Snape thought uncomfortably. They were staring him down as if he were about to marry their best friend.

Several minutes went by very slowly; finally, the door opened, admitting Hermione and the youngest Weasley. At nearly the same moment, Dumbledore's fire blazed to life, and the Ministry representative stepped into the office.

"Well then!" clapped Dumbledore, "Now that everyone's arrived, shall we begin?"

Severus and Hermione stepped forward.

"Oh, and this is Herbert Hinckley, the ministry representative who will do the legally binding ministry ceremony; when he is finished, I will step in with the old wizarding vows." Dumbledore, now finished with his orchestrating, stood back with the younger Gryffindors.

Hinckley cleared his throat and began a long soliloquy on ministry tradition and the state of marriage and the legal bindings made therein. He had a vague, droning voice, and Severus was easily distracted by the study of his bride. She had a vacant expression and a peach colored dress; neither were things he had seen on her previously. The dress looked quite nice on her. He was glad to see, as she nervously took several consecutive deep breaths, that her figure was not child like.

Quite glad.

Her expression, he hoped, was only temporary. This union was manipulated, unplanned, and undesired, but he didn't want an empty shell for a wife. If he remembered correctly, she always thought quickly in any of the shenanigans Potter roped her into; he hoped she retained the same quick-mindedness and presence of thought in their marriage.

Ending his discourse, the ministry worker began posing questions:

"Do you, Severus Snape, take Hermione Granger as your lawfully wedded wife, as witnessed by those assembled?

"I do."

"And do you, Hermione Granger, take Severus Snape as your lawfully wedded husband, as witnessed by those assembled?"

"I do." Her voice was softer than usual.

"Then I pronounce you legally wed." With a small bow, Hinckley stepped back; Dumbledore took his place.

The ancient wizarding vows were in some language Hermione didn't speak; it sounded vaguely Celtic, but she wasn't sure. Suddenly, Dumbledore posed a question to her, and somehow, she responded in the same.

She understood the ideas she was conveying: promises of chastity, honor, and respect. As she paid attention, she was able to understand the meaning behind Dumbledore's words, and she even understood Snape's mirrored vows. At Dumbledore's bidding, Snape took Hermione's left hand and whispered an incantation with his wand pointing at her ring finger. A black, tattoo-like band formed an intricate pattern right where a wedding ring would go. Hermione repeated this process on Snape.

The headmaster finished with a few vague phrases, then one last proclamation.

Hermione heard this as if he'd said it in English.

"You may now kiss the bride."

She knew this was going to happen, she'd thought about it, about his lips, about their heads, but the one thing she didn't consider was what on earth she would do with her hands.

Embracing him didn't seem right; they barely knew each other. And not doing anything but mouth-touching seemed odd and impersonal. And what would _he_ think if she suddenly caressed him any more than was necessary by law? Hermione's eyes darted side to side as his face drew nearer, trying to think of what to do.

Abruptly, as if he heard her internal conflict, Snape held each of her hands in his own and gave her a soft kiss.

"Mr. and Mrs. Snape, lady and gentlemen!" Dumbledore's voice heralded Hermione back to the awkwardness of the moment.

The ministry representative began clapping like mad for the new 'happy couple', while Harry, Ron, and Ginny mustered up some half-hearted hand-smacking in return. Dumbledore began spewing various saccharine phrases on love and life to the ministry rep as he escorted him back to the fireplace. With a rush of green, the man was gone.

Dumbledore turned back to the room to find Hermione in the center, with the other young Gryffindors a few feet from one side of her, and her new husband a few feet away from the opposite side.

"I take it you have questions on the ancient ceremony, Hermione?" Dumbledore had seen the curiosity blazing in her eyes.

Before she had time to say yes, Snape stepped forward, out of the shadows, "It is an ancient speech formed from magical binds; anyone with any sort of magic potential can understand the language with a degree of concentration; it is one of the things that separates Squibs from muggles. It is a language impossible to translate, because its meaning is based solely on intent; as you would have realized, Miss—"

He paused and cleared his throat. "Mrs. Snape."

"You can hardly call me that in your classroom, Professor." Hermione's voice was oddly different somehow. "If this is to be secret, you don't need to adjust to any change at all."

"Quite right, Miss Granger!" Dumbledore's voice interrupted the small bubble that had formed around the two Snapes. "However, if I may suggest calling each other by first names? When in polite company, of course."

Hermione and Severus nodded to each other to signify their assent.

A quiet descended upon the room.

"And now then, it's time for you three to be off to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione will not be attending classes tomorrow, but you may see her over the weekend." The headmaster shepherded the students out of his office, then turned back to the bride and groom.

"I won't be in class tomorrow?" Hermione posed this question towards her husband.

"No, Dumbledore thought it would be best for us to use the long weekend to get to know each other better. You will be 'ill,' and my alibi will be something vague and unrelated." His eyes searched her own. "Is this alright?"

"Yes, of course." Her husband gave her a curt nod, and Hermione tried to recall if she'd ever answered a question with that neutral of a response from him.

"And now, to your humble abode!" Dumbledore motioned to the fireplace grandiosely.

Hermione's heart beat faster as she took her husband's proffered arm and stepped towards the hearth. He threw in a handful of green powder and said, "Professor Snape's Rooms, Hogwarts."

They walked into the flames, and green swirled around them. In the split second before they were transported, Hermione looked up to find Severus looking back at her. The green light from the fire sparkled in his eyes, and his features took on an artificial cast. Something about those eyes….

But she didn't have time to ponder this, because with a _whoosh_ they were in the dungeons. The walls and floors were all made of thick stone and Snape's voice echoed queerly as he turned to her and said,

"Welcome home."


	4. Chapter 4

**Through and Through**

_"Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us... It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore I trust Severus."_

_--Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_

**Chapter 4**

The girl was looking at him as if he'd said, "Welcome to the deepest circle of Hell!" then laughed maniacally while ceremonially slaughtering a goat.

Which he hadn't. He'd said "Welcome Home," and pointed to the dark dungeon surrounding them.

In hindsight, neither was probably the best way to get on his bride's good side.

Hermione was looking around with eyes as big as saucers in the dim light, anxiety and discomfort evident in her every move. A tense silence evolved around them, so Severus attempted to fill the emptiness.

"I suppose a tour would be beneficial?"

Hermione nodded, martyr like. He hoped she wouldn't be such a melodramatic Gryffindor all the time. Severus moved to reveal the space they were in, an open room that housed many books, the fireplace, a couch and two arm chairs, a rather thinning rug, two end tables and a coffee table.

"Sitting room?" Hermione gathered her voice to guess the obvious. Her eyes scanned the walls, which were bare if not busy shelving books.

Severus continued: "Through that door is the bathroom, the one to the right is my room. That archway further right is a small kitchen and dining area; through there is another door that goes to my private laboratory, which connects to the potions classroom. And through here--" he placed his hand on the small of her back and led her to another door, which he opened—"is your room."

Both stepped through the doorway and into Hermione's room, which was the opposite of every room she'd seen so far. There were just as many bookshelves, but everything was sumptuous and perfect. It was decorated almost exactly as she had decorated her Head Girl's dorm, and already filled with most of her things.

"How… When did this get done?" Hermione stepped further into the room, touching what looked like home away from home.

"Dumbledore assisted in expanding the space; Minerva transfigured everything to coordinate with your other room, and the house elves moved some of your things while the ceremony was being conducted. The book shelves and extra-large desk there in the corner were my idea, as I had been forewarned of your ridiculous study habits."

"Ridiculous? You're a teacher, aren't you supposed to encourage the pursuit of knowledge?" Hermione's tone was combative; she'd been singled out for her hobby before.

"Yes, especially as the majority of my students are complete dunderheads. But you, Miss—Hermione, learn what they do with a quarter of the effort. What knowledge could you possibly be pursuing in all that extra time?"

"Mostly I finish assignments early and read ahead…"

"Mostly? What about at the end of the year?" His eyes were searching her face.

Hermione shrugged. "There's end of year exams, or OWLs or NEWTs to study for. There's always something next."

Severus let the silence hang for a moment. "Not after this year."

"What?"

"Let's suppose you read ahead all your days at Hogwarts. I'm sure you could have finished the curricula your fifth year, in spite of being stuck in the classes for longer. But at the very least, you've read through all your textbooks for this year, correct?"

She was facing him full on, trying to read him. "Yes. And?"

"And you've practiced what you read?"

"Most of it, but—"

"So you completed this years learning, I'd bet, this summer, perhaps early this fall. And yet the legend of Hermione Granger the Studier still persists. The homework assignments your teachers give you probably only take you an hour a night, at most. So what else are you studying?"

She walked over to the desk and sat in the chair in front of it. "I could be studying old material, drilling the information into my mind."

"You could be. But you aren't. You're Hermione Granger, the Insatiable. Your constant hand-raising is evidence of that. You always need to know everything, and prove it. You need to know more than everything."

For the first time that evening, Hermione looked neither apprehensive, nervous, or scared. She was wary, suspicious suddenly of her Potions Professor. "And when, Professor, did you have time to do this rather in-depth study of my character and study habits?"

There was a bite in her voice, and the acidity of her words amused him. "About the time the Dark Lord told me to marry you." He leaned against one of the posts of her bed with his arms crossed.

Hermione realized, too late, that he didn't correct her for using his proper title. She was abruptly far more apprehensive about calling him 'Severus'.

She cleared her throat, not knowing how to respond, then decided to change the subject. "The Dark Lord… how often do you meet with him?"

His eyes were active, in spite of his reclining pose. "He calls me at least twice a month, sometimes more frequently. But that's always for business; occasionally, I must attend functions by other Death Eaters to keep up pretenses."

She considered the wood grain on the desk. "Hm. He asked for this…" Hermione motioned to her left hand, emblazed by the black lines of his ring.

"Yes."

"Do you think—do you think he'll want to meet me?" Her eyes were occupied by the swirling patterns in the wood.

"It is a definite possibility. Eventually. I have no idea what his plans may be for us; he is a very mercurial being."

With a sudden change, Hermione turned in her chair, so that she was facing Severus. "Lately, I've been studying perceptive magic and blood magic."

Severus responded after a pause. "The only books Hogwarts has on blood magic are in the restricted section."

"Yes, I know; I have an open pass to access it. McGonagall got it for me, in light of my 'advanced studies'."

"You're aware that most blood magic is classified as a dark art?" His eyes were unreadable.

"Yes… it's just knowledge." She didn't like their positions: she sitting and he standing. He was too intimidating as it was.

"Just knowledge…" His face was unchanging as she abruptly stood and leaned on the wall facing him. "And this perceptive magic? I've never heard of it."

"Yes, it's very new. Ernest Yankowitz, a Polish magic researcher, has recently found a branch of magic that has been lost for centuries; it allows the caster to alter the perception of anyone he pleases without altering reality. Basically, you could make someone see a giant floating banana following them everywhere, which no one else would see, and they'd all think he was mad. It has more practical uses, of course, which are explored in Mr. Yankowitz's writings. He's written three books so far that I've sent away for—those are where I get my information from."

"How did you hear about this?"

"From Viktor Krum; I still write him occasionally. Apparently Durmstrang is planning on adding Perceptive Magic to the curriculum in a few years. They hope even to get Yankowitz to be a guest professor, if he's able. Viktor thought I'd be interested in it, which I was. I don't actually think the books have been published in Britain at all—I order mine from the continent, then do a translating spell, which works quite well ordinarily, but sometimes—"

"I forgot how talkative you can be. You were quieter earlier." Severus briefly reminisced.

"Earlier you were being intimidating and interrogating me!" Hermione accused hotly.

He replied slowly, as if the words were syrup dripping onto a pancake: "Well then, remind me to interrogate and intimidate you more often." With a smirk, Snape turned towards the door and went out the room, leaving Hermione to herself.

Walking to his bookshelves, Severus picked up an old tome with a smile on his face. His new wife wasn't a disappointment after all; she was already curious and very naïve.

Just what the Dark Lord ordered.

**000000000000000000000000**

Hermione woke the next morning slightly disoriented in her new room, not quite sure what had just happened.

She catalogued the events in her mind: dinner, getting ready, getting married, going to the dungeons—"home"—she remembered bitterly. Then a brief tour… then what?

Oh yes, her mind recalled. Then she was questioned by her husband, left by her husband, then she fell asleep on the surprisingly fluffy bed.

And now she was awake, with still more questions. She didn't really want to go into the main room, but it was the only way to get to the bathroom (which she needed, after last night's ron-esque meal) and she'd have to face Snape eventually.

Severus, she reminded herself, and shuddered lightly.

Hermione got dressed and headed towards the loo, nodding evasively when Snape muttered something about a "good morning". She made herself decent and emerged again before returning the sentiment.

"Good morning, Pr—"

He didn't even bother to lift his eyes from the newspaper he was reading as he smirked. "You're supposed call me Severus, you know."

"I know," she replied, in a tone that was just a bit too defensive.

"The house elves brought two trays of breakfast, if you're so inclined." He motioned over to the corner of the room. Hermione found the plate that hadn't been touched and brought it with her to the sofa.

"Did you sleep well?" Snape's voice was low as he folded up his paper.

"I never pegged you as one for small talk."

"I thought I should acclimate you to my… less tolerable social skills gradually. But as you have no expectation of common courtesy, I shall not attempt to delude you."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Thank you, I guess." Clearing her throat, she continued, "I have a few questions."

"Hm. Do you intend to share them?"

"Yes."

"Proceed." He was preparing a cup of tea as she spoke.

"Well, you'd mentioned I'd have a way to and from my dorm? How does that work?"

"Basically, Albus and I gave your fireplace limited access to the Floo network; you can only travel to your dormitory from this room, and your dorm fireplace will only bring you here. You can get there by saying, 'Head Girl's Dorm, Hogwarts' as you floo; you don't need to speak at all to return here."

"Oh, alright… Thank you for going to all this trouble."

"I had no other choice."

"Oh. Well, yeah…" Once again, Hermione fell into silence. She continued to nibble at her breakfast for a while; she jumped in her seat when he spoke again.

"You said 'questions'."

"What?"

"Questions, plural, and so far you've asked only one. What else did you want to ask?" He took a sip of his tea, looking at her from over the cup's rim.

"Well, um, I just wanted to clarify that… well, you said that we have a month? To, you know…"

"Yes, I believe I do know."

"Right, well, that deadline… is it set in stone, or, I mean, what are the risks of waiting that long?"

Hermione felt that speaking to him about their eminent copulation was like talking to very old people about death: awkward because it will happen soon. She felt like an infant in experience, especially when Severus leaned back into his chair and gazed at her with eyes that had seen the world.

"According to the sources I found, the… punishment for not following the old muggleborn laws isn't all done in one fell swoop; the magic corrodes your powers until they are extricated from your soul gradually, in the attempt to make you comply. The whole process takes about three months, I believe. I am fairly certain that the month deadline I predicted is reliable. You shouldn't have any symptoms if the binding is completed before then."

"And if I do? Could I ever be the same again if a piece of my magic, a piece of my _soul_ is ripped out of me?"

He paused for a moment, thinking over his words. "You could function after such a loss, as long as we quickly complete the binding soon afterwards. I have been researching how to restore you to full health, and I have found some promising leads… but as I said before, the month deadline is our deadline of safety; I am sure we will be safe within that timeframe."

"Sure?" Her clear Gryffindor stare overtook her earlier embarrassment.

"Yes." Severus looked at his wife, taking in her resolute expression, squared shoulders, and the vein of fear running through her eyes.

"I promise."


	5. Chapter 5

**Through and Through**

"_Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."_

_--Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_

**Chapter 5**

"The Dark Arts are very seductive, Severus."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Thus, to successfully lure a person into the Dark Arts, one need employ one's own seduction."

"Yes, My Lord." Severus Snape was kneeling on the stone floor of the Dark Lord's latest headquarters with his head bowed in reverence.

"You agree with all I have said?"

"Yes, My Lord. I have seen this technique—and employed it myself—several times."

"I see." Voldemort steepled his hands and appeared to be in deep thought. "You agree with this, and yet you have yet to seduce your own wife? Have I somehow failed to impress upon you the importance of her coercion? Or have you willfully 'forgotten' your duty as a Death Eater and spy?" The Dark Lord's voice echoed roundly in the vast room as his voice rose with the intensity of his questions. Feeling the laser-like red glare of his master, Snape rose.

"You have told me of her importance, My Lord; regrettably, I was moving too slowly. I was attempting to make her feel safe, as she thinks I am on the 'good' side."

Voldemort's pale face stretched into a cynical smile.

"Safe, Severus?" He let out an uncharacteristic laugh. The few other Death Eaters in the room shifted uncomfortably. "Have you never met a young woman? She will go to the dark arts—and to you—because they're dangerous. Because they're forbidden. Because they are anything but 'safe'." Stepping down from the throne-like chair he was ensconced in, Lord Voldemort stepped toward Snape. "Play it 'safe', Severus, and you will lose everything: her magic, my favor, and your life." His voice was soft and almost hard to hear. "Is that understood, my dear Professor?"

"Yes, My Lord."

**000000000000000000000000000000000000**

After what felt like the longest day in her short life, Hermione found a forum to air her tumultuous feelings when Ron's transfigured winged chimera began to try to make a nest in her hair.

"What the bloody hell _is_ that thing, Ron, it was _supposed_ to be a footstool—and it is nowhere _near_ my feet! Honestly, we're _seventh _years, you'd think by now you'd at least know how not to mess up this abysmally! Honestly, a _winged chimera_? From a _footstool_? What did you do, speak the incantation in Pig Latin while sticking your wand halfway up your—"

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall always knew how to make a bad day better.

"I'm sorry, Professor, it's just—it's building a _NEST!_" Hermione frantically waved her hands around her temple, trying to extricate the flying rodent from her tangled hair.

With a sigh and several quick flicks of her wand, McGonagall removed the chimera and re-transfigured it into the tri-corn hat it started out as. In an unusually generous gesture, Hermione's Head of House offered to let her spend the rest of the class in the restroom to—as she eloquently put while staring at the interesting hairy thing on top of Hermione's head—'clean up'.

So, promising a smirking Harry and irate Ron that she'd meet them in Potions, Hermione headed to the Ladies'.

She stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes, trying unsuccessfully to pluck out the knots formed by the loathsome creature, then gave up entirely and shoved her head beneath the faucet.

Her day was definitely going as badly as it started; very early that morning, Snape was summoned by the Dark Lord. She'd found him in his long robes and mask as she was coming back from the bathroom, and for a moment she thought a real Death Eater was standing in her sitting room. He spoke, however, in Severus's deep timbre, and said he'd be back for his afternoon classes for sure.

She wasn't able to get back to sleep, so she went to breakfast having slept only three hours since she last ate that meal. Much to her surprise, Professor Snape came late into the Great Hall; he'd only been gone two hours. He pulled her up from her seat—"head girl business"—he'd said as an alibi, and brought her into an empty classroom.

"I'm glad I found you before classes. Let me see your left hand."

"Why—_oh._" And she realized then that their entire clandestine house-of-cards came very close to falling down.

Quickly, Professor Snape performed a series of glamours on Hermione's hand, hiding the ring-like tattoo that displayed her matrimonial state in intricate defiance.

"We're lucky no one noticed it yet; most may think it is just a tattoo, but some pureblood could've known what it was. But we don't have to worry about that anymore."

He was finished incanting, but he still held her hand; she supposed he was checking his work. His dark eyes shifted to look into her own. He looked as though he wanted to say something; those enigmatic black orbs of his held some combination of emotions that she couldn't decipher.

As abruptly as she saw into that clouded mind of his, the message in his eyes vanished as if they were windows and he was drawing the shutters closed.

"I'll see you in class this afternoon, then, Hermione. Remember we are to behave as if nothing has changed."

"Of course, Pr--… I'll see you this afternoon."

With a nod, Snape left the room. Hermione, after allowing him to get far enough away, went to her first class, Arithmancy, where she was so paranoid that everyone knew about the wedding she got three equations wrong—which of course, was cause for much abuse from the Slytherins, particularly Blaise Zabini. In Herbology, Seamus squirted some sort of corrosive plant goo all over her skirt, making her the subject of several jibes and much innuendo; At lunch time, she hurried back to her dorm to change skirts, then barely made it to the Great Hall to grab a bit of food; from there, she rushed to Tranfiguration, narrowly avoiding tardiness.

And now she was crying with her heavy head of wet hair in the sink.

Attempting to compose herself, Hermione heaved her mass of hair from the sink and attempted to de-tangle it. After a quick drying spell (and several anti-redness and anti-puffiness spells on her eyes) she decreed herself barely decent looking; her hair had been behaving surprisingly well as it grew out, but each day Hermione kept expecting it to return to being a frizzy brown bush. Nothing good lasts forever, she reasoned.

Picking up her bag, Hermione began to walk down to the dungeons for her husband's class.

**000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

If Snape was feeling at all awkward teaching his wife's class, he didn't show it. Like nearly every other class, he wrote the instructions for the class on the board, then barked at them to get to work. Burying herself in the normalcy of the situation, Hermione set to work.

As she brewed, she was mostly ignorant of the various pops and sputters coming from around the room; the potion they were brewing was quite volatile, and any minor slip-up caused a small combustion.

Steam rose from her cauldron and she was immersed in her work, looking up from her concoction periodically only to check the ingredients she was using. The next step was rigorous stirring in a detailed pattern; she set to work, vaguely aware of her husband's voice a few seats down.

"Mr. Longbottom, thus far, we have made thirty-seven potions this year, no less than twenty-four of which you have succeeded in exploding in some form. Tell me, Mr. Longbottom, with your vast knowledge of combustible materials, how is it that, this, the first actual volatile potion you are to brew is milder than diluted water?"

Neville's sputtered reply was lost on Hermione's ears as she counted the long strokes of her stirring. It was quite a thick potion, and her upper body was quickly becoming sore.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. I see your potion quite matches your hair—oh my, and your face too. Perhaps you should consider going into the field of decorating? Your coordination skills are flawless."

Ron's back talk was easier to hear, and cost Gryffindor twenty points for "insubordination, vulgarity, and the disrespect of all nomadic cultures." Hermione's potion seemed to be getting more and more viscose, and steam and sweat were puddling on her brow.

"Quite smooth and reflective, Potter—let me guess, the better to see yourself? Ten points from Gryffindor for vanity in the face of academia. No, Potter, I won't make you start over. This will be quite interesting when we test these next class…"

"Miss Granger."

His voice was low and intense and closer to Hermione's ear than she was prepared for. In her surprise, her stirring abruptly stopped. How did she never notice that her name sounded like a caress coming from his mouth? The two of them were obscured in the dense fog surrounding the cauldrons. She attempted to restart her stirs on the proper pattern.

"No, Miss Granger, I believe you were on the fifth anti-clockwise stroke in the third sequence. Here:"

He took his hands on hers to augment her stirring, directing the paddle into the proper pattern. He was pressed slightly to her back, his hands moving hers in circles that moved their shoulders together. Hermione was relieved of much of the stress of stirring the thick potion, and she unconsciously relaxed into her pose, glad to be rid of the exertion. In doing this, however, she leaned lightly onto the front of her husband's robes.

"I certainly can't do the work for you, Miss Granger. I'm not like some of your other professors, whom I shan't name, who would allow you to coast through the curricula on merit of being a hand-raising know-it-all. Continue."

He abruptly drew away, leaving Hermione feeling startlingly alone.

Excepting Professor Snape's snide remarks to students as he walked by, class passed without incident. Everyone bottled, labeled, and turned in a sample of their potions before leaving the class. Hermione was swept into the wave of students eager to leave the classroom, feeling for the first time wholly separate from them.

**000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

Hermione and Severus were slowly falling into a routine together. That night, they were situated as they were growing accustomed to in the evening, in companionable silence in the sitting room, both occupied with separate tasks.

"Did you have a good day?" Hermione didn't glance up from her homework.

Severus peered at her from above the papers he was grading. "I thought you didn't care for small-talk."

"I was just asking. I assume it was a busy one, being a Death Eater in the morning and a professor and secret husband during the day."

"I am used to such subterfuge."

Hermione let this statement hang in the air for a few moments while she finished a translation on her ancient runes text.

"But it wasn't bad, was it? The Death Eater meeting?" Her voice sounded more concerned than she liked.

"That depends on your definition of 'bad', I suppose." He was half-heartedly shuffling through the student essays.

"Well, you didn't get hurt? Do people often get tortured at these things?"

Severus let out a mirthless laugh. "I expected more of you, Hermione. Think about that from a power-control perspective. What sense would it make for anyone seeking to maintain control to senselessly torture for no cause?"

"Well, I suppose it doesn't make sense, but that's what makes You-Know-Who scary, isn't it? At least, that's what everyone says…"

"Everyone vilifies the enemy, Hermione. No matter whom they're fighting, or which side they're on."

"Well, yeah, but they're actually the villains! What could _they_ possibly say about _us_?" Her homework was put aside in her consternation.

"As a man who has a foot on both sides of this war, Hermione, believe me, it's a universal trait. I think the main paranoia they exploit is our desire for equality for blood-status; those loyal to the Dark Lord believe we will do everything to irradicate their race, by intermarrying, breaking up pureblood families, and even redistributing the wealth many old pureblood families have accumulated to go towards a school fund for muggleborns."

"But that's ridiculous! We'd never do anything that radical! Voldemort's side kills people without provocation and spouts insane, backwards doctrine all in the name of some intangible bias!"

He was nearly smirking now. "Yes, but who ever said they torture for fun? Don't get me wrong, the Dark Lord certainly takes advantage of his followers with grudges, those who relish the destruction of those He seeks to destroy, but the Dark Lord only tortures those who he means to kill by necessity for his cause. What would he possibly gain by torturing a loyal follower who has followed orders to a tee?"

Hermione's face took on a peculiar expression. "Well, it's a good thing I have you here to explain it to me."

He could tell it was a baited comment, but he was curious. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, _obviously_, everyone else lets me slide through life based on my reputation as a bookworm, a human machine that spits out whatever it's told. I rarely get to use independent thought or strategy because I _expect_ to receive information and not have to work to obtain it, or even really understand it once I do." Ending this tirade, she went back to her translations. "Obviously."

Severus was looking at her with his eyebrows raised.

"My, my. I never thought you'd be this touchy. I picked on other people in class, too, you know."

"Yes, you picked on other people too, like every other class, but you were different today!"

He considered the top of her head, which was all he could see of her, as she was hunched over her work.

"Different how?" His eyes glittered in the firelight.

"You were—you know—different?" Seeing he required more information, she continued. "You helped me stir, and you spoke like—like we weren't in class. And then…"

"And then I spoke to you as if you were nothing more than a student?"

"Yes."

"Did you notice, Hermione, the extreme amount of steam and fumes today's potion had that clouded your vision?"

She nodded.

"And did you also notice, with that keen intellect of yours, that you could still hear sound?"

She nodded again, this time sulkily. "You had to speak that way to keep up pretenses, I understand. But you were sending me conflicting signals. Can you just treat me totally like your student when we're in the classroom? I mean, treat me one way or the other—just don't… confuse me."

Snape had long since put down the papers he was grading. He was now observing his little wife with keen interest. "This got you quite worked, didn't it?"

She didn't answer.

"What are you working on?" he asked, motioning to her essay.

"It's for Ancient Runes."

"And when's it due?"

This time, her reply was not as quick. "In three weeks, I think."

Snape rose from his chair. "Come here, Hermione."

"Why?" she asked as she was putting her papers away.

"I want to show you something,"

They walked to the other side of the room; his hand on the small of her back directed her to a particular portion of the large bookcase enveloping the room. With a wave of his wand, a shelve of books at about Hermione's eyelevel shrunk and decended onto what should have been the shelve below them; apparently they were now small enough to disappear into the wood separating the shelves. In these shrunken books' place sat more books, but these were old and antiquely bound. They all had plain covers, usually with only the title spelled out in scrolling letters. Hermione assumed, on reading some of these titles, this was because the books content needed no embellishment.

"Take your pick." Severus's low drawl drew Hermione out of her awestruck reverie.

"What?"

"These are my restricted books, most of them on the Dark Arts. Believe me, they are vastly more interesting than anything Professor Babbling has you translating. You're welcome to them whenever you wish, provided you don't disorganize them."

Hermione was speechless; if she heard Snape, she didn't show any sign. She just gaped open mouthed at the tomes before her, stroking the spines of the books with such longing and reverence as if they were physical incarnations of the gods.

"I shouldn't… I mean, I can't. I know I was studying blood magic, but that's on the boundaries of… of, you know, light and dark. Some of these… I thought they'd all been eradicated…"

"Don't let societal pressures dictate what you do, Hermione. These books are knowledge, just like your Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven. Knowledge can only make one stronger; and isn't that the goal of school? To make you strong so you can face what the world has in store?"

"Yes… but…" The fire in her eyes was brighter than ever.

"Here," Snape pulled a book out. He grasped her hands with one hand, holding them out. Swiftly, he placed the book in her grasp, and she quickly cradled it, as if afraid to tarnish its rarity.

Hermione looked at the title of the book in her hands: The Power of Life. The words were written silkily in a long, languid script, as if the author was as entranced by the subject as one would be with a lover. Looking up, Hermione realized Snape had walked her back to the sofa. She was standing in front of her usual spot, and he was already seated back in his, grading papers as if nothing at all had happened.

Hermione sat, moving her fingers over the binding of the book before opening to the first page.

"Severus?"

The man in question looked up, his eyes veiled.

"Thank You."

And with that, she began to read, so entangled within dark text she never felt the shadowed eyes that were upon her, or saw the slow, scheming smile that had formed on her husband's face.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! I was out of town for a few days. As always, I don't own the HP universe, and I can't take money for this story no matter how much I may want it. Thanks for the lovely reviews thus far, and enjoy another chapter!**

**Through and Through**

"_Curiosity is not a sin... But we should exercise caution with our curiosity... yes, indeed."  
__--Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_

**Chapter 6**

"Well, Severus, how goes your first week of married life?"

Dumbledore came to Severus's office during his free period, apparently intent upon ruining any chance he had of privacy.

"Uniquely."

A tea service sat on the desk between the two men, looking decidedly cheerful and useless.

"Ah, but surely you can elaborate more than that! How are the two of you getting along? Any foreseeable problems?" Severus often wondered if Dumbledore was purposely peppy to annoy him.

"You mean any foreseeable problems in a marriage between a professor and his student wife, who is twenty years his junior? The same wife whose every move is being watched by the Dark Lord, in an attempt to use her in an elaborate plot? The cheery Gryffindor princess who has eminently to be bedded by her imperious Slytherin professor all due to some archaic, forgotten law?"

"Yes, problems like those. Anything come up?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled annoyingly.

Severus stirred his tea. "For the most part, no; the Dark Lord did _ask_ me to move up the consummation, and to start her on the Dark Arts… I discovered she'd already been studying some things classified as being dark, but nothing scandalous; I gave her access to my private, restricted books. You're sure she can be safe with them, Albus?"

"I have no doubt. The dark arts have often been found to be corrupting, but if anyone can withstand learning them, it would be Miss Granger—or, I suppose we should call her Mrs. Snape in private. Although, calling her that would be more of a custom, as she hasn't legally changed her name, obviously, to keep up our ruse."

Severus looked at his old mentor, quietly juxtaposing him against his other master. "Hermione is strong-willed, and as Gryffindor as Godric, so I suppose we will just have to leave the knowledge in her hands." Severus enjoyed a pause in the conversation, using his tea as an excuse for the mild silence. "And in answer to your other questions, we're getting along well, for the most part. As two people who prefer the company of books, we're rather well suited as long as we leave one another alone."

"Hm… I hope you do get to know her, Severus. It will make your upcoming duty that much easier."

Looking his wizened old professor sharply in the eye, Severus stood.

"If that is all, Albus?"

"Yes, Severus. Good day."

**000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

"Harry… do you trust him?"

"Who, Snape?"

"Yes, Professor Snape, Harry. Do you trust him, I mean, as a member of the Order?"

Harry paused for a moment, taking in his friend's hesitant and pleading eyes. "Well, course I do. I mean, I let you marry him, didn't I?" Hermione relaxed slightly, but he could tell something had her unnerved. "Are you saying you don't trust him? You're the one who always defended him to Ron and me."

"Yes, I know, but—"

"But?"

Something in his eyes made Hermione not want to finish her statement. She could tell, looking past those wire-rimmed glasses to the reflective green of his eyes that he wouldn't understand; he wouldn't understand what she would say just as she hardly understood what she needed to say herself.

"But he was always so mean to you, and he's quite changed now; he's practically amenable to me at home. I was just checking to see how you felt now."

She tried to tell herself she didn't lie to Harry for any sinister cause; she tried to ignore the voice in her mind that purred with satisfaction that it kept it's secret intact… She pretended ignorance when she was filled with a feeling of relief and satisfaction from _not_ telling Harry.

She tried, but she was not entirely successful.

"I dunno, I mean, I can't stand him as a person, you know, but he seems alright to you, at least. He certainly does loads for the Order, doesn't he?"

"Yeah. I'm glad you're alright with this whole thing, Harry. It really means a lot that I have your support."

"No problem, 'Mione. You know Ron and I'll always be here for you."

With a smile, Hermione picked up her books and headed off with her best friend to Gryffindor tower. They walked steadily, occasionally talking about mild things: exams, the House Cup, Harry's intentions toward Ginny…. All too soon, and yet, not soon enough, they reached the common room.

"Hullo, Hermione! You going to stay down here with us non-Heads tonight?" Parvarti asked good-naturedly from the game of chess she was playing in the corner.

"No, don't think so; I've got loads of studying, and now Dumbledore wants us Heads to organize some sort of new mentor program with the prefects." Hermione made her way to the door that led to her Head Girl's dorm.

"You can't do that down here?" Harry's voice asked this time.

"No, it's just so much quieter in my room, and everything's organized just right—"

"Well, at least you're still our Hermione!" Ron's hand clapped her abruptly on the shoulder. "Try to spend some more time with us though, yeah? We miss you down here."

With a nod and a word of assent, Hermione was through the door, up her stairs, and into her fireplace; instantly, she was flights down in the dungeon, facing the lack-luster furniture of her sitting room. She exhaled, feeling relieved that here, at least, she didn't have to keep up the charade. Lugging her bag along her side, Hermione walked back into her room.

She threw her school books to the side, loosened her tie, and kicked off her shoes. She picked up the large, forbidding book from her desk and plopped down on her bed as if she were about to dive into some juicy piece of pulp fiction. She opened to the title page: _Sensation Manipulation_.

It was a slightly less scandalous, but nonetheless dark text, compared to her first, _The Power of Life._ She'd read that one in two days, followed by _Dark Seduction_ (a book of the most vile sex magic she ever could've imagined), which she'd finished that morning. At lunch she'd returned to Severus's private books to select a third, and she had laid it out for when classes got out.

All day she'd thought of this nondescript book. Its spine felt warm to her fingertips as she had brushed her hands along the should-be-forbidden texts, and it stayed warm throughout her last two classes, a constant reminder of where she could be.

And now, where she was.

Severus was still in his office; he stayed there to "help" any students who needed it, but Hermione had never met anyone brave enough to seek him out. She had the rooms to herself for another hour or two, and she wasn't about to let him see how much she loved the liberty he'd given her.

Hermione was sprawled across her bed, mesmerized by her book, and completely oblivious to anything else. So when the dark form of her husband leaned against her open doorframe, she remained quite entranced.

Severus stood still for a moment, a black silhouette on the golden room, observing his young wife. Seeing she was not aware of his presence, he spoke.

"Is that homework?"

She sat up like a shot, the book slamming closed, an audial reflection of the shock visible on Hermione's face.

After an uncomfortable moment, she found her voice. "Sev— You're home early."

"The astounding brilliance of my students seems to have rendered my office hours unnecessary." Snape regarded her for a moment. "I've never seen you lounge with a book before."

"I read all the time."

"Yes: sitting up, hunched over, and once, I believe, while bent in half."

"I was doing yoga; I like to multitask." Hermione defended.

"Yes, but I've never seen you strewn out, doing nothing else, lying on your bed with a book. What drove you to it?"

She opened her mouth to answer him, but for some reason was at a loss for words. She pushed the offending book towards herself on the bed and held it up.

Severus's face was a mask; if he was surprised that she was reading a dark arts text like her best friend's diary, he didn't show it. His head tilted slightly to the side.

"Quite an interesting text, if I recall. Are you very far into it?"

Abruptly, Hermione remembered that, as they were his collection, Severus would've read all of the restricted books. She vaguely thought of the sex magic book and blushed slightly. As if he knew her thoughts, his eyes grew sharper. She responded:

"Not very; I've only just got to the second chapter."

"There's an interesting section a little further on that I've found quite useful in the past."

"You've used this magic?"

Severus's eyes were shadowed as he moved closer to her. "You forget that I've led a very… _interesting_ life." He sat down next to her on the bed and picked up the book. "Would you like me show you this magic?"

Hermione fumbled for words. "Uh—can you? I mean, it _is_ dark—and wouldn't it—"

"I won't do anything bad." His voice was a menacing purr that she couldn't refuse.

"Alright."

He took one of her hands into his own and looked into her eyes briefly. His fingers trailed along her own, and he softly began incanting under his breath. Then, he was silent. The only sound was of his skin gently rubbing across her own. He turned her hand over and began tracing the lines on her palm; he connected them in some tantalizing pattern that she felt through her entire body. She resonated with it, her body hummed, all feeling she could ever imagine originated from his hand on her own.

Vaguely, she was aware that this was sensation magic, that he was demonstrating a technique, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Hermione's eyes closed as she felt rapture she had thought was only possible through God or drugs. Her mind was elation; the world spun around in pointless beauty, the crown on the magnificent head of her happiness. Colors and darkness melded together in some impossible understanding of harmony, and she was part of everything, part of the air, the curtains on her bed, part of the man still touching her, and connected in infinity to everything.

And abruptly, it was gone. Hermione knew absence like she didn't know was possible; she was contained, empty, back in her own body, back in a black-and-white world. She heaved a sigh and drooped forward at the loss.

She nearly fell off the bed, but was caught be Severus's arms.

"It can be jarring the first few times you come off of it."

Her mind was slow now, unused to linear thought. Eventually, she found her voice. "What… what was that?"

His arms still held her as they sat on the bed. "It was a type of sensation magic that created an altered state in you. Muggles get similar results through illegal drugs, but theirs are habit forming and destructive, from what I am aware."

"So… you just got me high?"

He gave a dark chuckle. "Basically. But you should be happy to know that, except for pure escapism, my method is not habit-forming."

"So why is it dark magic? It doesn't seem all bad." Slowly Hermione's world was reasserting itself, and the utopia she had felt was but a short-lived dream.

"The argument against it was that it could be used against people to take advantage of them when in a vulnerable state."

Hermione heard the catch in his tone. "And the reality for why it is classified as dark magic?"

She was not facing him, but Hermione thought he smiled. "It was fun, wasn't it?"

"Well, yes…"

"And you'd like to do it again?" He let this question hang; Hermione didn't answer. It seemed she didn't need to. "So you'd spend more time in that state than doing other things—obsessive studying, for instance."

"So the ministry banned an entire classification of magic because they don't want to interfere with my work ethic?" Her tone was sharper now that she was coming out of her dream state.

"Does that really shock you?"

Snape disentangled himself from Hermione, letting her support herself now that she was back to her usual self. Hermione stayed sitting on her bed; Snape moved across the room, and said from the doorframe:

"Dinner is beginning soon; I'll see you in the Great Hall."

And he strode out of their quarters as silently as he had come.

Hermione picked up _Sensation Manipulation_ from her bed covers and considered the mysteries it held. Not for the first time, she wondered at the cavalier way the ministry seemed to disown whole branches of magic. She got up and began straightening her uniform before the trip back up to her dorm and down to the Great Hall, pausing only to glance at the dent in her coverlet where he had sat and held her.

She took a handful of powder and threw it into the fireplace, ending up where she was supposed to have been all along.


	7. Chapter 7

**Through and Through**

"_Smart girl, that Hermione!"_

_--Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_

**Chapter 7**

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since their marriage, and there were two weeks left to seal the deal. It was the halfway point; they were now over the hill, sloping downward, steadily gaining speed until the ultimate conclusion was to be met: consummation, or worse than death.

Oddly enough, with this pressure weighing down on her, the fact that Hermione had to sleep with her professor wasn't the cause of her anxiety.

Instead, she was rather disconcerted because she was starting to want to.

She knew, logically, that since they were married for life and had no choice but to consummate, some sort of feelings for each other were bound to develop. At the very least, they would have to respect each other in general and scrounge up enough lust to placate the dreadful bonding every once in a while. Hermione acknowledged that these feelings would occur; indeed, they were to be encouraged, so that both of their lives would flow more easily.

She knew all of this, but wanting him _now_ seemed to make everything that much more complicated.

Did he have any feelings for her? How could he? She really didn't want to risk losing her magic; would he take that as the reason for her speeding up their physical relationship? If she didn't have any feelings, would they have just waited for the last possible day, then just… done it? Was he good in bed?

Okay, that last one slipped sneakily into her more reasonable questions. But lately, Hermione's thoughts were infiltrated by lust. She couldn't pinpoint when it started or what exactly triggered it, but sometimes, when she saw those dark looks he sent her, when her eyes fell on his long-fingered hands in class, whenever his voice took on that low rumble—she couldn't think of one reason for risking her magic any longer than necessary.

There was always the possibility that she was starting to want him only because she knew she had to sleep with him; it made her view Severus in a different way, and it might be her mind being kind to her, facilitating what it knew must happen.

Hermione knew all of this.

But she had no idea what to do about it.

**0000000000000000000000000000000000000**

It was happening again.

He was in his NEWT Potions class, teaching, and she was staring at him.

Not _at_ him, exactly; her gaze was on nothing in particular, but every once in a while he would see her eyes fixate on his hands, on his body, and most disturbingly of all, her eyes would glaze over, leaving him to only imagine what she could be daydreaming.

Hermione's work was still absurdly perfect, so he couldn't take off points. He really didn't want to call attention to her …stupor, for lack of a better term, lest someone discover their secret marriage. So Severus was left to teach his class, and pretend that his wife wasn't mooning at him from the third row.

It was distracting, to say the least, but it was to be expected. When had he ever failed the Dark Lord? Everything was right on schedule; he just had to be sure to proceed with caution. The tenuous beginnings of a relationship were often what entangled the foolhardy seducer. Severus knew, from vast experience, that this time was perhaps the most dangerous of all…

He abruptly announced the end of class; students stampeded towards the exit, eager to be rid of their ever taciturn professor. Hermione gathered her things slower than most, and walked closer to him than most dared. In one brief stride she looked at him with what could only be called longing, but when she saw him watching her, her face cleared, and she was on her way with the other students.

And according to the Dark Lord, the danger is what attracts her, Severus mused. With a smirk, he began riffling through graded essays he had to give back to his next class. Perhaps this time could be the most dangerous… and the most advantageous.

The fifth years began to seep reluctantly into the dungeon classroom, wary of the ominous smile on their teacher's face

**00000000000000000000000000000000000000**

After his last class, Severus retreated to the dungeons, anxious to relax. On entering his rooms, he saw Hermione lounging ubiquitously on the sofa, completely oblivious to his entrance.

"Is that Yardley's Guide to Dark Herbology, or have you already moved on to something more titillating?" Snape's voice pronounced these last words in a deep staccato.

With a snap, Hermione violently closed her book and stood abruptly.

"Severus!"

"Yes. I am pleased to see your eyesight is still accurate."

"You're early."

"Ah, but unfortunately you can't tell time. Shall I get you one of those muggle timepieces with the lit-up numbers, or shall we endeavor to teach you the science of clock faces?"

Hermione shifted her weight between legs, crossing her arms. "Must you always be so _snarky_?"

"You didn't answer my question." He moved closer to the sitting area.

"I fail to see what business it is of yours what I read."

Like a thunder cloud quickly shrouding a blue sky, the depths of Severus's black eyes leveled off, leaving cold dark plains.

"What business it is of mine?" His voice was chips of ice falling sharply on the space between them.

Feeling the change, Hermione backed away subtly as Severus took a step towards her.

"Perhaps, as your teacher, one who serves to mold your mind, it is my business." He moved slowly, accenting his words with distaste. "Perhaps, it is my business as a death eater who has to report to the Dark Lord on your progress." He was circling her, herding her into the corner of the room. "Perhaps, as your husband, the man who provided the books which you absorb so readily and naïvely, it is my business." There wasn't any where for Hermione to retreat; Severus was only a couple of feet away. She pressed against the wall futilely. "Perhaps…" He was less than a foot away from her; this last word was said almost as an exhalation of breath against the side of her face. Never losing his imposing demeanor, he breathed in deeply—if he was anyone else, Hermione would've thought he was breathing in the scent of her hair. "I should've known. You weren't ready."

With that, he turned and walked to his favorite chair, leaving Hermione plastered against the wall in the memory of her intimidation. He stared into the fire for a moment, seeming to be lost in thought.

"Not ready for what?" Hermione took a step forward.

The sound of her words seemed to travel to his ears slowly; after a moment, he shook his head lightly as if drawn out of a deep reverie.

"Not ready for all we've asked you to do. The Order, me, the Dark Lord…. Obviously you weren't ready, or you wouldn't be hiding these books like a junkie hides his stash."

Hermione stumbled forward quickly as words of hot anger burned her mouth. "Not ready?! That's ridiculous! I read _everything _quickly and thoroughly, and I enjoy _all_ learning! I am more ready than anyone else! What could've happened?! Am I suddenly evil? Am I suddenly a creature of darkness, intent upon destruction and death? NO!" She was standing before him, in front of the fire, obstructing his view. "And I'm not hiding my reading, I'm not ashamed of it! You're the one who showed it to me in the first place!"

"Yes! I showed it to you in the first place, so why do you jump out of your skin when I enter the room? Why do you schedule your dark reading around my schedule? You're ashamed, Hermione! You're addicted. You know you are and you don't want anyone else to. You're addicted and you don't see what could possibly be wrong with that. You somehow don't see all the people who _have_ been corrupted by the dark arts, who _have _turned evil, who have _died_ from the seductive lines of text in these books! You're only safe if you realize that, Hermione." He was sitting forward in his seat; Hermione was standing, looking tired and drawn. With a sigh, she sat back down on the sofa, covering her eyes with her hand. "_Can_ you realize that?"

Softly: "Yes."

In resigned defiance: "Nothing's happened to me yet. I'm still whole and sane and alive, even reading like I have been."

They were both sitting in awkward silence; Hermione was looking anywhere but at Severus. He was studying her intently.

"Nothing's happened to you yet. It's a testament to your character; most would be crazy or death eaters by now. That's why the Dark Lord wants you to study these books: he either wants your intelligence working for him, or eliminated from the other side's arsenal. He wants this because he believes that you will fail or fall. Both are fine with him." He watched Hermione's vacant gaze turn stony. "I have let you have free access to these books because I believe in your intelligence. I believe you can have your beliefs, see the beliefs of others, and put them together to find truth." His eyes studied her slowly. "Can I tell you something?" Her response was a slow nod. "I think Dumbledore's an idiot."

She let out a scoff—"He's the most talented wizard alive!"

Severus's mouth quirked up when she said the answer he'd expected. "Yes, he is. Brilliant, powerful… but he lacks something. You remember that spell I did on you, the sensation magic?" Hermione nodded. "It was qualified as dark magic the first year he was on the Wizengamot. He voted for its inclusion in misdemeanor-banned magic." Severus watched as her expression wavered before becoming a mask again. "So, yes; he's brilliant, talented, powerful—but he doesn't have what I have, what I think you have as well: a discerning mind. Dumbledore sees in black in white, in darkness and light. He ignores the vibrant spectrum of magic surrounding both. Anything can be evil if you desire to do evil with it—Dumbledore ignores that. Great, horrifying dark magic can be used to do acts of unquestionable good. I respect Dumbledore as much as I can respect anyone, but he has a flawed perspective. You and I—we can _see!_"

This soliloquy was said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. Hermione looked at him finally to see an odd look on his visage; one of hope, excitement, and idealism. Passion. They stared into each others' eyes.

"I still don't quite trust you, you know." Her voice was vaguely hoarse, as if her emotion was spent in an unvoiced scream.

"I know."

Hermione took to rearranging the book and papers she'd scattered on his startling entrance. Once they were neat, she looked back up.

"Good evening, by the way."

Severus let out a brief half-smile.

"Good evening."

And after this heated greeting, their evening progressed as usual; they decided to eat in the dungeons, and after calling the house elves, their meal arrived with no further impassioned tirades. In fact, things were unusually quiet during the first half of the meal, until Severus, clearing his throat, broke the silence.

"So I've been meaning to speak with you," he said with unusual directness.

Hermione glanced up from her dinner. "Oh? About what?"

"About time. It has a funny way of going on that often leaves things left undone."

"Is this your roundabout way of bringing up the consummation of our happy union?" She was cutting her chicken in a decidedly precise way. She had known this conversation was coming.

"You thought of that quickly."

"It's a rather large clause in our marriage contract, isn't it? I don't exactly want to painfully lose my magic and my soul."

"No, we wouldn't want that…" He spoke these words in a peculiar tone; Hermione couldn't decide how he meant them.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, until she drew Severus out of his reverie. "So, you wanted to talk about our consummation." She desperately wanted to call it something less prim, but neither love-making nor fuck seemed to fit the situation.

"Yes. You're aware, I trust, that we have two weeks left to complete the binding?"

She wondered if he was as tired of side-stepping the word sex as she was. "I am aware of it."

"I wanted to see how you wished to proceed." His eyes searched her own, and Hermione swiftly became conscious of the fact that she would have to screw this man, and soon. She looked at him, and saw her professor—a man twenty years her senior whom she barely knew. She'd never felt more like a child, more like his student, than right at that moment when she thought of fucking him. He kept up the eye contact, much to her embarrassment, as she was sure her face was flushed from her thoughts. She used her meal as an excuse to break away from his gaze.

"How _can_ we proceed?" she posed this question mostly because she had no idea how to answer him.

"We could wait until the last day of the four weeks, and then… _do_ _it." _His lack of propriety somehow comforted Hermione. "Or… we could work up to it." He was done with his meal and was now fiddling with his fork absentmindedly.

"Work up to it? How do you mean?" (Although she did have an inkling as to how).

He was a great black spot on the dining area; his dark robes, jet hair, and shadowed eyes stood out from the warm woods of the table and extra bookshelves. His voice reverberated deeply, "We could get to know each other slowly—physically. Work our way up to the act." ('the act' she thought, 'like we're doing a play.') "I thought it might be less jarring, to an extent."

"Yes, I suppose that's a good idea. Er… do we start… now?"

They were about five feet apart, on opposite sides of the dining table. It was quite awkward.

"No time like the present." Severus used his wand to clear away their dishes.

"True." But Hermione felt the cleared dishes put far too much pressure on something to happen. She looked at him uneasily. "How should we start?"

He leveled a gaze at her, his countenance as unreadable as ever. He stood and made his way to her chair. She had spoken the truth earlier: she really didn't yet trust him. And now he was standing and she was sitting, as if he weren't already intimidating enough; how did that always happen? But then Severus grasped Hermione's hands and pulled her to standing; with a fluid movement, she was flush against the wall. She briefly wondered what on earth happened to her earlier lust, surely that would make everything easier, she wouldn't view him as older, as her teacher, just as a man—where had that gone?

With one hand by her head and the other still holding her wrist, he leaned in to kiss her.

Oooh. That's where it was.

Suddenly Hermione knew a thirst that was only quenched by his lips; their kiss intensified, and, utilizing the hand he'd left free, she pulled his head closer. From the back of his neck, her hand drew to the front and down his chest. It was warm—surprisingly so—and she wondered if he was always that way or if it was just now.

His mouth trailed across her jaw and down the line of her neck. Pausing at the tender flesh near her ear, he said,

"Like this."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Sorry for the late update

_**A/N: Sorry for the late update! I was on vacation for a while, and apparently left all my story ideas there for a short time. However, I've got a nice long chapter for you now! **_

_**Mad props to Rinatovna for dressing up like a greek goddess, becoming a muse, and inspiring the main plot of this chapter. **_

_**As always, I do not own the HP characters. (But you can pretend I do, if you want).**_

**Through and Through**

"_... 'and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and-'  
But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence."_

_--Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_

**Chapter 8**

He was worried that she wasn't ready, that he was rushing things, that she was a second away from pushing him away with a slap and a chastisement. Her face had seemed confused, slightly panicked, before he pushed her against the wall; he only hoped this would change as he nibbled his way down her neck.

"Like this?" her voice was breathy as she bounced his last statement back at him.

"Yes." It was intoxicating, having her between him and the wall, her form pressed ridiculously close to his.

"O—oh." She sighed out these syllables as he drew his hand down the long column of her throat, letting it fall casually down her form as his mouth continued to work away. He moved back to her lips, moving his mouth against hers in some mute soliloquy of passion.

She responded—he felt a wave of exhilaration as she moved into the kiss, her back arching off the wall. His hand slipped under her shirt, caressing the soft pale skin of her abdomen as she pulled his head towards her own. He pulled one of her legs up by the knee, allowing him to move even closer to her.

And at this new contact she paused—"Um… Severus?"

"Yes…"

Her hands slowed their lazy path across his shoulders. "You were saying… we should work up to _it_?"

They were frozen like a picture, weirdly still in their passionate embrace.

"Yes?" Severus asked first, then, returning to himself, said, "Yes, work up to it. I think we've made fine progress." And yet neither one of them moved. They were still, each entangled by the limbs of the other. "Don't you think?"

Hermione's gaze strayed from his; she blinked rapidly, as if to rid her eyes of lust.

"Yes."

That established, it only took about three seconds for Hermione to jump up, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him into a passionate embrace. Severus's hands moved further up her shirt, skirting the bottom of her bra, tracing the curves of the side of her breasts. Her kisses were fervored and unplanned; his motions became less methodical and more passionate as their bodies pressed against each other and the cold stone wall. She was entirely off her feet now; lust gave Hermione the trust she needed to let Severus support the weight of her body.

Which is why she was shocked when he abruptly pulled back, leaving her to crash swiftly and mood-shatteringly to the floor.

A wordless gasp, a quick cry of pain, and then she looked up to see Severus clutching his left forearm—his Dark Mark.

"What th—Severus?"

His face was unfocused; his eyes moved back and forth.

"Severus!"

He turned, looking down at her, every bit the imperious git she knew and… (well, not loved, but her mind didn't finish the thought.)

"It seems we have a change of plan tonight, Miss Granger."

Oh, he was taking advantage of her awkward position, and loving it. She stood clumsily, straightening her blouse inelegantly.

"Going to see the Dark Lord again? Lovely. I suppose I'll brush up on my knitting, the house elves are almost hospitable to me again, and I'm sure a new batch of hats and things are in order… So I'll, er…" He was looking at her as if she was a snake in a shoe store. "So I'll get that together, then."

She stomped off to her room, cursing her brilliant grace in the face of humiliation. She'd just been dumped on her ass when her snogging session with her professor (and husband) got interrupted by a summoning from the Dark Lord. And then she'd talked about knitting hats for pissy house elves.

Brilliant.

She fumbled through some school papers for a few minutes, trying not to think about how her lips were smooth and full from his kisses, trying to study the knowledge she craved instead of remembering the craving she'd felt when he'd pressed against her, how her body had flooded with heat, how it had felt to have her legs around him, his center warm and close to her ever-wettening—

Herbology, Herbology, Herbology!

Plants… pants… What would his underwear look like? His clothes were very traditional—would he wear boxers or briefs? She could picture neither. Perhaps he didn't wear any at all…

Plants!

"Hermione!" His deep bass call echoed from the main rooms.

"Oh—er—yes?!" She stumbled up, nearly falling off her bed, and walked quickly into him in the doorway.

Quite graceful, tonight. She should write a book on seducing Death Eaters. Tip One: Be flustered, a lot, and run into things.

She didn't have time to think of the other tips as his stony gaze fell upon her and he began speaking rapidly.

"Get changed, quickly, into something more traditional. Fix your hair. We're to see the Dark Lord." He threw a piece of paper towards her. "This just came by owl. It is all I know."

She flattened out the curled parchment which simply said:

_Bring the girl with you tonight._

It was signed only by a flourished "V."

She ordered her hair slightly from the snogged up mess it was before, but was at a loss as to what to wear. Something more traditional? What did that mean? Non-Muggle?  
"I don't have any non-Muggle clothes, Severus."

"What?" He was standing impatiently by the fireplace, floo powder in hand. "Nothing at all?"

"No, nothing at all. What should I do? Is it that important?"

He paused for half a second before dropping the floo powder back into the jar by the mantle and striding closer to her. He examined her blue-jean clad form.

"He'll be getting impatient…" he muttered as he took out his wand. With a silent set of incantations, Hermione's muggle clothes began to transform into long, dark-grey witch's robes. There was nothing ostentatious about the robes, but they were flattering and elegant in their simplicity.

He did good work on the spot.

"Now, come." He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the fireplace with anxiety he seldom let surface. His face cooled slightly as he threw in the powder and stepped into the dancing green flames. With a soundless gust, they were carried impossibly fast to the last place Hermione wanted to be.

With Severus still tugging her arm, she stepped cautiously into the domain of the Dark Lord.

**00000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

They walked quickly through yet another dark stone corridor. Hermione was beginning to think dark wizards lacked any imagination at all when it came to decorating.

After an interminable length of speed-walking, they came to some sort of small antechamber; they were between two sets of doors now, the set behind them closing with a low, resounding slam. They stood still and silent for several moments, until an unseen figure from the dark made himself known:

"Well, well. Mr. and Mrs. Snape have finally arrived." The voice was cruel and smooth, its beauty marred by mal intent. With a deft flick of his wand, the man's death eater mask fell away, revealing the immaculate countenance of Lucius Malfoy.

"Oh—er—Severus, is he supposed to know?" She whispered futilely, as if the man she was discussing wasn't two feet away from them.

His mouth swept into a nearly angelic smile. "Oh but of course! All members of the Dark Lord's inner circle know of your happy union, my dear Mrs. Snape." His oddly light grey eyes reflected the flickering light from the sconces queerly.

"Draco hasn't said anything…" she was grasping for pieces of the puzzle, coming up short.

And now he smiled, which unsettled Hermione even more. "He doesn't know, of course. Honestly, Mrs. Snape, do you think I go home, give my son a big hug, and reveal every detail of my Death Eater meetings?"

"Stop calling me that." Her anxiety was beginning to manifest as irritation.

"Calling you what?" His head quirked to the side.

"Mrs. Snape. I haven't changed my name."

He spoke down at her, using his height to patronize her. "But you're married; you can't deny the bonds of magic, child."

"I'm not trying to. Who says the magic that binds the universe is patriarchal? Just because I have a bond with Severus doesn't mean nature changes the name my parents made up for me."

He paused, eerily pleased. "'Magic isn't patriarchal…' You're quite interesting, _Hermione_. I can see why he wants you."

She paused. Hermione digested these last words like they were a heavy holiday dinner. Severus's reassuring presence at her side brought her back to the absurdity of the moment; perhaps it wasn't the best time to discuss such things with one of the Dark Lord's inner circle.

But Lucius only smiled mockingly. "They're clearing out of the main room. You can go in, now."

And the doors before them opened, revealing a vast (and yet again) stone room, nearly empty but for scattered chairs on the edges, and one large throne-like chair directly in front of them.

Seated in it was Lord Voldemort.

His eyes were on them as they walked across the large room; He didn't feign looking away, or being busy, or try to speak when they were too far away.

He just stared.

Severus was silent and stealthy by her side, giving no information on what she should do, how she should behave. The absurdity of the situation boiled the dirty blood in Hermione's veins; she was tired of being the scared one, tired of being the victim—

So she stared back.

He was… different from what she was expecting. Harry had described Voldemort's snake-like visage, the red eyes, the overall scariness of his form, and none of this was false—it just failed to do justice to the terrifying creature she was advancing upon. In spite of the ghostly white skin, the faintly-glowing eyes, he somehow wasn't ugly or repulsive; on the contrary, he was practically mesmerizing. Like a solar eclipse, looking at him was dangerous and addicting. Only she had no filter.

No filter to hide the studying eyes, or the elegant bone structure from his less corrupted youth. The mouth was not smiling, or frowning, or anything that conveyed emotion at all, but Hermione could tell—from the glow of his eyes, perhaps, or the way he was regarding her—he was pleased.

Which she wasn't sure was a good thing.

And at last, their sojourn was complete, and he spoke:

"Severus. I'm pleased you could make it." ('as if this were a cocktail party!' she thought.)

"Of course, my Lord. May I introduce my new bride, Hermione."

Severus, after his own deep bow, motioned his arm out to Hermione, with a pointed look. She curtsied without thinking.

When she rose she saw more than the illusion of pleasure on Voldemort's face.

"Hermione… I'm so interested to finally meet you." He stared at her for an uncomfortable moment. "At last…"

Another awkward silence stretched out. Hermione was unsure how badly she could mess things up tonight. She glanced over to see Severus staring at her with all the force his eyes could muster—she looked into his eyes and his voiced echoed across her mind loudly, panicked:

'_Reply!'_

"A-and I am most pleased to make your acquaintance as well, My Lord." The words stumbled out of her mouth like a newborn calf taking its first steps in the meadow.

"Yes…" he put more emphasis on the end of the word, drawing it out. "I can see that. " His fluorescent eyes looked her over like a cop's flashlight looking for kids making out in the back of a darkened vehicle. "Good work, Severus," he said, while still looking at Hermione.

He drew his eyes away casually toward the man he was addressing. "You didn't miss too much at the main meeting; mostly Bellatrix droned on obsessively about that muggle slave she's got. She insists the idea has possibilities, but none of us see how they could possibly be better than house elves. She's quite barbaric, sometimes…

"Dolohov and his team made some progress in Wales with that family of blood traitors. He had to torture the lot of them, but the last one finally gave us some useful information—and good timing, too; I was quite close to having you check on the loyalties of our dear comrade Dolohov, Severus, but fortunately that is unnecessary.

"The only other things of importance are our people in the ministry; the brothers Lestrange are responsible for keeping tabs on them. According to them, all those imperiused are functioning perfectly, but from the volunteers there have been a couple of defectors; they've been dealt with.

"So, you're quite caught up, Severus. Now it's your turn. What news of Hogwarts?"

Hermione had listened to all of this with growing apprehension. She jumped slightly when Severus's voice began:

"Thus far my cover is still intact; Dumbledore is assured that I am a faithful member of the Order. He's been working on some plans to discern who's working for us in the Ministry. He has been largely unsuccessful, but he has been developing a spell to detect the Imperius curse—it could succeed, after a period of time, so I suggest we have a back up method of control. Perhaps Lucius could begin developing a traceless Imperius?"

Voldemort nodded, and added: "Yes, he and I have been working on something to that effect."

Severus continued. "Then nothing threatening from the Order at this time. They're trying to mimic our subtlety, but the lot of Gryffindors don't have much of a knack for it.

"Hogwarts itself is more secure than ever; it seems each week Dumbledore holds a staff meeting, telling us of his 'increased security measures'… It will be formidable, my Lord, when we seek complete take-over, but nothing you cannot handle—" and here he gave another little bow.

"And your marriage, Severus? How does it work in the school—how does Dumbledore take to it?"

"He sees my marriage as a necessary evil, my Lord, to placate any fears you may have that I am not on your side. He was slow to relinquish the girl from his controlling grasp, but as you know, it has been done. He has ordered us to keep the marriage secret: only the Order, Harry Potter, and the two youngest Weasley children know of it. And of course, my Lord, your Inner Circle." Again, Voldemort nodded.

Hermione stood there, quite outside the bubble currently formed around her husband and the Dark Lord, practically alone in a vast chamber the size of a Quidditch pitch. Her legs were beginning to ache; she realized she'd been locking her knees in her body's anxiety. She looked around the stone room, her eyes leading her back to the Dark Lord like there were a magnet connected to him.

He was staring back at her.

"And your studies, Severus? I trust your wife's brain isn't atrophying now that she's happily wedded."

"No, my Lord. She is quite as studious as before—and when I allowed her access to my private collection, she became practically insatiable."

"Marvelous." He grinned here, open mouthed and toothy, one of the most frightening sights Hermione had ever seen.

"I trust we'll have no issue with the mudblood laws? Your prude-ishness isn't going to render her useless to me, will it?"

And with a grin mimicking his masters that could only be described as evil, Severus responded: "No, my Lord."

Hermione was quite deaf to the Dark Lord's words of dismissal as she kept her eyes on the man she called her husband. They walked back the way they came, and went back through the floo, all in silence. And all the while Hermione stared at Severus, who was somehow more dark, more malevolent, and far more entrenched in the muddiness of this war than she could have ever before understood.

They were back in their living room. Hermione stood stock still, motionless from her whirring thoughts, while Severus busied himself putting away the Death Eater robes he hadn't needed to bring. As if this whole evening had been routine to him, he nonchalantly swept back into the room, in a way that could have been romantic, and kissed her.

It was a repeat of before, but the kiss seemed harder, colder to her somehow.

"Goodnight, Hermione." He spoke against her neck.

He was gone, black robes carrying him to his bedroom, leaving her standing, unmoved.

She swallowed—when did that simple act become so difficult?—and walked slowly into her own room, echoing his own words—

"--goodnight, Hermione…"


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello dear readers! I have a rather long and saucy chapter for you—but to be quite honest, I'm not altogether sure I should rewarding you for only giving me 7 reviews for the last chapter. You had been averaging at about 20 a chapter. Considering the steamy/scary nature of chapter 8, I was surprised at your lack of commenting, to say the least. It hasn't stopped me from producing another gripping chapter, but be warned: if this keeps up, I may just fight back with really horrible chapters. That's right—I'm threatening you with bad writing!**

**It is a grim future I paint, so I suggest you do all you can to avoid it—REVIEW!**

**Through and Through**

"_Dawn seemed to follow midnight with indecent haste."_

_--Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_

**Chapter 9**

"Good morning. Care for some eggs?"

He was making breakfast—standing casually in their small kitchen, wearing the white button-up shirt he normally wore under his black teaching robes, cooking eggs sunny-side-up. Cheery glasses of orange juice sat jauntily on the table set for two.

Groggy from the morning and from the odd scene she stumbled in upon, Hermione's reply was slow.

"Oh… g'morning, Severus… um, yes, I suppose some eggs would be nice."

He nodded and continued cooking. She sat at the table and took a long swig of juice.

"I suppose you're wondering about the meeting last night." His voice was the only dark thing in the kitchen.

"Just a bit, yes." Hermione felt it was far too early to be this confused.

"Well, as I'd said before, I do get called regularly. Normally there's the general meeting, and sometimes afterwards the Dark Lord likes to meet with his inner circle privately. As I'm to bring you from now on, I assume—"

"You're to bring me from now on? Every time you're called?"

"Yes, hadn't I mentioned it?"

"No." An accusation ran richly through her voice.

"Well, you are. Because of it, I assume my attendance is only required at the inner circle meetings henceforth, to preserve our secret… relationship."

Severus turned around with the fresh plates of food, and was briefly startled by the accusatory arch of Hermione's eyebrows.

"Is everything alright?" He set the food down in front of her.

"No, everything is not bloody 'alright!' We've been married for two full weeks, and in that time we haven't always gotten along, but you have always been your cranky, cantankerous self. And now, after you tag me along with you to a Death Eater meeting with Lord Voldemort, the Archbishop of Evil himself, you're—" she sputtered here, her anger disintegrating slightly from the absurdity of the moment. "Now you're bloody _pleasant_." She spoke the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth. "Pleasant, _nice_, and making me breakfast! What for? Are you trying to make me forget what happened last night?"

"No." He wasn't angry at her, which was also unusual.

"No. You're not trying to make me forget. Then what? Why are you acting like this?"

He shifted in his seat, his black eyes fixating on something over her shoulder. "I suppose…" his gaze moved to look at her. "I suppose I'm trying to show you I'm not dark, Hermione. I'm a spy, a double-agent, and I have to do horrific things… things that haunt me… but I'm good. In the loosest definition, perhaps. As my wife—as my partner in whatever web the Dark Lord catches us—I want you to know that."

Hermione stood, straightening her school skirt. "I'm running late for class." She picked up a piece of toast and headed to the door. As she was almost over the threshold, she paused, and turned back to him.

"You can be a git and still be good, Severus. You don't have to… _do_ anything to let me know. Good-bye."

Hermione walked swiftly to her class, feeling upset, stressed, and absolutely nothing else.

**00000000000000000000000000000**

_So the little chit doesn't like her eggs sunny-side up. That's interesting. _

_After seeing her hang around with Weasley so much, I'd assumed she wanted the sweet, attentive, apologetic suitor. I'd risked everything by not talking to her after the meeting; I knew I had to do major clean-up work to keep everything on track. But this didn't go how I'd foreseen at all… _

_We did have some chemistry before. I'd assumed that was in spite of everything, because I was taking all the scary out of the dark arts, because I was shedding light on that shadowed corner of learning…_

Severus smiled wickedly to himself. _Who would have thought? Gryffindor's know-it-all Princess of Sunshine and Goodness… attracted by turmoil, darkness, intimidation… drawn to power, sin, and depravity…_

_This will be far more fun than I had anticipated._

**00000000000000000000000000000000**

Hermione made it through her first two classes by pure reputation alone. Three times she had been called on without having heard the question. Other students would have gotten points taken away for not paying attention, but everyone just assumed the Gryffindor know-it-all just needed to clean out her ears, or perhaps suffered from a head cold.

She was thinking about Severus. Her attraction to him was sporadic at best; last night, before the death eater meeting, she had definitely felt something—or would she have felt that for anyone she was snogging that passionately? She _had_ wanted him before… but this morning, she was completely neutral.

Perhaps she would have to just lie back and think of England, after all.

Lunch passed too quickly. She ate too quickly, people talked too quickly, and it was time for the next lesson far too quickly. Before she knew it, Harry and Ron were shepherding her down the grey halls of Hogwarts—down, it seemed, as if they were attempting to reach Hell through some sort of inverse Tower of Babel. The boys chattered on about something she didn't care, not noticing the growing reticence of their friend as they approached the imposing wooden door that led to their next class:

Potions.

The trio meandered to their seats. Hermione let her hair fall over her face and busied herself by getting out her books. Perhaps it was because the Severus of this morning was so different from the usual Professor Snape, or perhaps she didn't want to face her confused feelings of attraction, but whatever the reason, she did not want to be in that class.

And judging by Severus's surlier-than-usual disposition, neither did he.

The only man in the room flounced in (yes, flounced, making his robes billow brilliantly) from the far side of the room, swooping down upon his students like a vulture going for its prey. Every student swallowed nervously, save for one. Hermione felt her dread turn to anger—this was the man who took away her future, who decided her life path for her before she was even out of school. She knew it was because of his position as a spy, that in a way she saved both his life and hers by marrying him. She knew she should be mad at Voldemort, or even Dumbledore, but Severus was the man she would have to fuck, Severus was the man who acted like a cheery idiot this morning, and Severus was the object of her rage.

And so the class started.

"I trust you all completed your essays on the use of transfigured ingredients in potions. I cannot wait to grade them; I have been needing a good laugh…" Snape strolled intimidatingly before the front row, lazily dragging his wand to take up the papers.

He walked down the second row. He turned the corner, and was on the third row.

Hermione's row.

She stared him down; if he was surprised, he didn't show it. He waved his wand deliberately, watching her the whole time.

Papers flew around her head, from Ron, Harry, Neville, Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson—but none flew up from her desk.

Severus clenched the papers in his hand and walked to her desk with disturbing calmness.

"Miss Granger." The words were oddly enunciated through his clenched jaw.

"Professor." She kept her voice light.

"Is there some reason you have not turned in the essay? Too challenging, perhaps?"

"Oh, nothing like that, Professor," she said with a calm belying the anger on her face, "I just didn't have time to get to it. I was a bit busy last night."

His face was a mask of placidity, but she was becoming surprisingly good at reading his differing shades of hidden emotion. His eyebrows were slightly tense, hovering like dark clouds over the storm of his eyes, forewarning nasty weather.

"One might wonder, _Miss Granger_," again, he said this name tensely, as if wanting to say something else. "What could possibly be more important than doing your Potions assignment?"

She raised her eyebrows, as if to say, _You think I won't tell?_

_If you do, you're far more dim-witted than I had feared,_ was his clear reply.

She smirked, "You should know, Professor. I was with you, after all."

Twenty pairs of eyebrows shot up at the insinuation of her comment. Harry and Ron began sputtering uselessly; Neville's expression melted into one of pure shock; the Slytherins were too dumbstruck to do anything but stare.

Snape was glaring at her. Nothing unusual about that, really.

"—in detention. You remember Professor? The one you assigned for pestering you about the details for said essay?"

His eyes were black plains, empty fields of hidden rage. "Yes, Miss Granger, I remember. But thus far you are the only student who has failed to turn in a paper, but not the only one with detention last night. I can only assume your Head Girl duties are conflicting with your scholastic goals; perhaps I should speak with Professor Dumbledore about… lightening your load? Perhaps assigning them to someone who does have the time."

"It won't happen again, Professor." But her eyes weren't sorry.

"See that it doesn't. Thirty points from Gryffindor."

He finished gathering the essays, then went back to the front of the class. This class was just a lecture, so only the semblance of attention needed to be imitated. Severus taught in the usual reluctant, patronizing way, but his glance strayed to Hermione—and held it with a stern glare—more often than she thought was purely chance.

The class ended; students strayed out cautiously. Hermione was almost out of the door when—

"Stay after class, Miss Granger."

Neville gave her a pitying look, and she waited as everyone else hurried out, anxious to be out of the way before the horrors began.

The door closed; Hermione turned to face her doom.

He was standing behind his desk, staring at her, no longer attempting to hide his fury.

"Do you have any idea how unimaginably _stupid_ that was?!"

He was close to her in three brief strides. "You nearly told the entire class about us! We would've had to obliviate them all—and if anyone found out they'd been obliviated, and lifted the curse, we would've been found out, my cover would have been blown, and there's a good chance we'd both end up dead!" He towered over her, backing her into a corner. "Do you want that, Hermione?"

"N-no." Her voice was shakier than it was supposed to be. "They didn't find out, we don't have to obliviate them, and we aren't going to die!"

"No!? You don't seem to grasp that death is one of the better ends to our little charade!" He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her lightly, leveling his eyes with hers. "We're cutting it close in the best scenario, my dear little wife, and the sooner you realize that, the likelier we are to get out of this alive."

His voice was raw, shadowed, and rough in its emotion. As he spoke, each word seemed to settle on her, weighting her down with its abrasive masculinity. He was close to her, and still holding her shoulders; she couldn't get away even if she wanted to. How had she never realized how similar poses of intimidation and intimacy were?

He was still gazing levelly at her; the moment was still. As if he'd read her thoughts through her eyes, his face lowered slightly, closer to hers. Hermione's breaths quickened; she knew he was still trying to scare her, trying to intimidate her into submission, trying to keep her in line. As Head Girl she was vaguely repulsed by the flagrant show of power. As Hermione, she was ridiculously attracted to him.

Her hips pressed wantonly into his, her mouth captured his in a searing kiss, all the more passionate for the anger behind it. He kissed back, and Hermione couldn't believe he wasn't more confused by it all.

"Severus?"

"Hm?" His hand was creeping up her side sneakily.

"I didn't mean to get us killed."

He kissed her again, somehow even more powerfully. Was there ever a bottom to the dark depths of his intensity? He began to kiss up and down her neck.

"Severus?"

His response was to entwine his hand in her hair, pulling her neck taut.

"I've got a class in a couple of minutes. I think you do, too."

He grasped her on either side of her waist, and gave her one final, thorough snog. Her hands ran up his chest; her arms draped across his shoulders.

"I'll see you this evening?" He asked, his smooth voice now husky.

She nodded slowly and turned to leave the classroom, missing the covetous smirk forming on his face.

**000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

Hermione turned the corner stifling a lust-filled giggle. She watched the halls empty as a smile tilted the corners of her mouth.

_Oh my god. I'm a degenerate. I'm a pervert. I am a sexual deviant! _

_I can't believe I got to be this old without realizing it. They should have told me before, it shouldn't have been a surprise! Are all girls like this? Or is it just the goody-goodies? Oh, none of them are, it's just me, the sexual miscreant, Perverted ol' Hermione, Harlot of Gryffindor!_ For some reason, this thought made her smirk.

_I should've slept with Viktor. _

_But I was only a fourth year! I should've slept with Ron._

_Oh, no, no no no, never mind. God, that image will never get out of my head._

_I just need more experience! I—he—this is ridiculous. Everything I have ever endeavored to do, I have done exceptionally, and fucking shall be no different. I'll make my dear professor grade me, and I'll get an O… well, I'd _better _get an "o"…_

_See?! This should not turn me on! I'm nothing but a debaucher! A Lecher! _

_I wonder if he_ would_ grade me… _

**000000000000000000000000000000000000**

Like most evenings, this one found Hermione and Severus as they usually were, she on the sofa and he in the wing chair, each reading a book and enjoying the quiet of the evening together. That night, however, Hermione found her mind wandering; she couldn't focus on the book propped on her lap. She glanced briefly around the room, and as her gaze fell on Severus, she found his dark eyes staring into her own.

She was lost in those eyes; those molten pools of ink she could drown in, sink into; she wanted to swim in his eyes, to be lost in them. She wanted to bathe in the dark silk looking so intently at her.

As she thought of bathing, however, images of nude skin and flowing black silk clouded her vision, and for a moment she was lost to that sensuous image. As quickly as she realized what was happening, she snapped her mind closed and retreated back to her book.

"Something the matter, dear?" She could hear the smirk in his voice. Bloody Legilimens.

She shook her head and made some non-committal noise, her eyes never leaving the text before her. She heard the snap of his book closing and the rustle of fabric shifting and slowly raised her head.

He stood before the sofa, tall and imposing. She didn't know how he managed it; Snape was the exact same height as Ron, but when she looked at Snape, her vision was filled with him, consumed by his presence. The voluminous black robes blurred the surroundings and left only Him to be seen. Hermione was average height, and Severus was only a bit above average for a man, but with him standing above her as he was now, she felt like a fish caught in the claws of an eagle.

After standing only a little longer than was strictly necessary, Severus sat beside Hermione on the sofa. He wasn't touching her, but he was close. Hermione's gaze again fell to her book; trying as hard as she could to appear nonchalant, she softly inquired as to why he moved.

"Oh, just a change of scenery, really. I hardly ever sit here and wondered what you like so much about it." The fire crackled ostentatiously as the two regarded each other.

"Well, I can draw my legs up, it's close to the fire, and the armrest is very comfortable to lean on while I read. " She knew how Severus hated small-talk, and was trying very hard to act as if everything that was happening was perfectly normal.

"I see."

When he said this, his gaze was not on the couch, but on her. His eyes drew quickly across her frame, then looked resolutely into the fire ahead of them. With a casual gesture, he put his arm on the back of the sofa, close to Hermione's shoulders.

"It is quite comfortable, isn't it?"

Chancing a glance from her book, Hermione was surprised to find his face so close to her own.

"Um."

"Such eloquence from the Gryffindor Head Girl! If I didn't know better, I'd say you were nervous about something."

Hermione felt her cheeks warm and prayed to whomever would listen that they weren't red.

With an audible exhale of breath, Severus seemed to move closer to Hermione, though how exactly she wasn't sure.

"This has gone on long enough, Hermione." His voice was full and rich, and so lyrical that Hermione nearly didn't listen to the words, just the long, deep flow of it. "I know how you're feeling."

"How I'm feeling?" Hermione's voice sounded weak and breathy in comparison to the one she interrupted.

He picked the book up from her limp hands and placed it on the table in front of them. "Yes. How you feel." He shifted, then, so that she was leaning back against the armrest and he was leaning closer still.

"And I'll tell you." This was said against her ear as he brushed her hair behind her shoulder, giving him access to her neck.

"It's everything, really. You feel _everything_. Anxiety, nervousness, happiness, indecision," his hand was trailing a path across her collar bone. "You feel a mélange of everything, but I think what's most obvious is apprehension," his other hand had snaked around to her waist, "confusion," he was speaking so closely to her neck it was as if he was kissing her with his words, "and most of all," his nose nuzzled her jaw and neck as he breathed in her scent, "want."

Hermione heard these as if he said them into her mind. He was everywhere, everything; his form filled her vision, his voice was all her ears heard, his soft touches were all that her skin could feel.

"_All_ that, at once?"

She only realized she'd spoken aloud when he answered with a deafening, "Yes."

Her senses were blind and at once hyper-sensitive; they knew nothing but what was happening; they saw, felt, heard only that which was coming from him.

"Yes, my little lion."

She shifted then, her body moving in spite of her mind's trepidation. The leg that was between them was now on the other side of him, leaving Severus leaning over her, between Hermione Granger's spread legs. She took in a quick breath, as if she couldn't believe she'd done this herself. Hermione could feel his mouth curve into a smirk as he continued laving her neck.

Suddenly aware, she realized that one of his hands was still high on her clavicle, the other wrapped snake-like around her waist, and his mouth was staying on her throat. As nice as those were, Hermione abruptly understood the true meaning of the word _want_.

"Aren't… aren't you going to…"

"To what, Hermione?" His voice sounded like he'd been waiting for this.

"Aren't you going to _do_ something?" Her voice, still breathy, now had a note of desperation about it.

"Something like what, exactly?"

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh as she realized she didn't know how to proceed. The feelings he was inspiring in her were completely new; she was in uncharted territory. With her Gryffindor courage breaking through the indecision and haziness of the moment, she acted quickly.

She sat up straighter, so that she was leaning against him. She pulled his head towards her mouth and gave him a deep, simple kiss. She pulled the hand that was tracing her collarbone down to her breast, rubbing it across the nipples she hadn't realized were hardened. She let out a moan into his mouth, breaking the kiss only to answer his question.

"Something like this, exactly."

Severus deepened the kiss, snaking his tongue into her mouth, enjoying the feel of her getting used to it; they developed a rhythm, and when she felt his hand moving smoothly under her shirt, she moaned into the kiss again.

"You'd better watch out, little lion. What would the other Gryffindors say if they knew how thoroughly you were enjoying the evil caresses of your dark, forbidding potions master?"

Unbuttoning her shirt, Hermione looked again into those molten black eyes of his.

"I like your darkness."

And with that, he consumed her. He was fire and she was fuel, and his hands were everywhere as he carried her smoothly into the bedroom. Lying there, she watched him undress. His form was smooth and lean; his white skin was broken only by the dark mark on his pale forearm. He undressed her slowly, peeling off her shirt, and kissing all the new skin it revealed. He repeated this with her trousers, kissing from her foot to the bottom seam of her knickers. With a smooth motion of his hand, her bra was off, and she was kissing him, lying under him, pressed into his solid chest. She opened her eyes to see him looking at her, with the same eyes that had glared so heatedly at her just a few hours before, with the same face that hid emotions from the greatest wizards in the world. He spoke her name; she wondered how many people had died with that dark silk voice being the last thing they ever heard.

They stayed like that for a moment, intertwined by legs and kisses and circumstance. Hermione let out a moan of desperation, and he was between her legs before she knew what she needed. She was not herself, then, crying out wantonly to the studied ministrations of her potions professor. She hadn't known this feeling existed, that this man she had loathed for six years could make her feel so differently. She was different from the Studious Head Girl she'd always aspired to be, different from the friend Harry and Ron thought they had, different from the daughter her parents thought they'd raised.

She was herself, whoever she was, in ecstasy, only because she was with Him.

They moved together, monumental motions that took them nowhere, but to a place Hermione had never been before. Her back arched and her legs gripped him ever closer to her as the coil in her belly wound tighter, turning her into a machine of lust. It was sensation magic, wizarding sex, nothing this wonderful could be natural. She stared at the strong arms on either side of her, holding him up. With a long suppressed moan, she came.

She looked into his black eyes, ran her fingers through his black hair, and kissed his dark mark. He was a black and white man whose life was forever in the grey; never wholly for one side or the other, never truly revealing who he was. She pulled his left forearm up to her face, holding it against her cheek as she fell asleep in post-orgasmic bliss. Her death-eater husband….

Hermione fell asleep quickly, never feeling those black eyes watching as she slipped into her dreams.

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